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•‘TEDDY, FROM ONE OF THE ROCKS ABOVE. ENGAGED 
THE GOAT WITH THE ?TTCHFORl^. ” (Sge page *4.) 



MARY TRACY’S FORTUNE 


BY 

ANNA T. SADLIER. 

>1 


$ 


New York, Cincinnati, Chicago: 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

Printers to the Holy Apostoltc See . 


BENZIGER’S JUVENILE SERIES 


LIBRARY of CONariESS 
Two Copies Receivwu 

DEC 10 \ 907 

Copyrigni tntry 

47 0 m 


EACH VOLUME, 45 CENTS, SENT POSTPAID 


The Great Captain. By Katharine T. Hinkson. 

The Young Color Guard. By Mary G. Bonesteel. 
The Haldeman Children. By Mary E. Mannix. 

Two Little Girls. By Lilian Mack. 

Nan Nobody. By Mary T. Waggaman. 

Dimpling’s Success. By Clara Mulholland. 

An Adventure With the Apaches. By G. Ferry. 
Bistouri. By A. Melandri. 

A Hostage of War. By Mary G. Bonesteel. 

Fred’s Little Daughter. By Sara Trainer Smith. 

The Sea-Gull’s Rock. By J. Sandeau. 
Jack-o’-Lantern. By Mary T. Waggaman. 

An Every-Day Girl. By Mary T. Crowley. 

Pauline Archer. By Anna T. Sadlier. 

Pancho and Panchita. By Mary E. Mannix. 

The Armorer of Solingen. By W. Herchenbach. 
Wrongfully Accused. By W. Herchenbach. 

The Inundation. By Canon Schmid. 

The Canary Bird. By Canon Schmid. 

Mary Tracy’s Fortune. By Anna T. Sadlier. 

The Golden Lily. By Katharine Tynan Hinkson. 
Recruit Tommy Collins. By Mary G. Bonesteel. 

Bunt and Bill. By Clara Mulholland. 

As True as Gold. By Mary E. Mannix. 

The Berkleys. By Emma Howard Wight. 

Bob O’ Link. By Mary T. Waggaman. 

The Mysterious Doorway. By Anna T. Sadlier. 
Little Missy. By Mary T. Waggaman. 

By Branscome River. By Marion Ames Taggart. 

The Madcap Set at St. Anne’s. By M. J. Brunowe. 

A Summer at Woodville. By Anna T. Sadlier. 

An Heir of Dreams. By S. (\/l . O’Malley. 

Old Charlmont’S Seed»B^Dj By Sara Trainer Smith. 
The Queen’s Page. By K^barine Tynan Hinkson. 
Tom’s Luck-Pot. By Mary 1\ Waggaman. 

The Blissylvania Post-Office. By M. A. Taggart. 
Three Girls and Especially One. By M. A. Taggart. 


Copyright. 1002. by Benziger Brothers 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Mary Tracy . 7 

CHAPTER II. 

Mary and Jim are in Danger 18 

CHAPTER III. 

Mary has a Visit from a Doctor 32 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Doctor does Mary a Service 40 

CHAPTER V. 

Mary’s First Day Out 56 

CHAPTER VI. 

Larry Moloney’s Cruelty 66 

CHAPTER VII. 

Mrs. Morrison 78 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Teddy gets the Treasure 86 

5 


6 


Contents. 


CHAPTER IX. page 

Mrs. Morrison Visits the Rocks 96 

CHAPTER X. 

Larry and the Peddler 108 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Bank-books 113 

CHAPTER XII. 

Mrs. Morrison’s Great Plan 124 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Peddler has Another Encounter 

with Larry 131 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Christmas on the Rocks 144 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Christmas-tree 154 


MARY TRACY’S FORTUNE. 


CHAPTER I. 

MARY TRACY. 

Mary Tracy had been left an orphan at so 
early an age that she had a vague impression 
herself of having been always an orphan. 
She had been adopted by some not unkindly 
folk, who inhabited a shanty among the rocks 
which skirted Central Park, New York, so 
that in obtaining a share of their worldly 
goods, she had not come into a very great in- 
heritance. As soon as she was of an age to be 
intrusted with that delicate duty, she was set 
to mind the baby. It therefore came to pass 
that her weird, almost elfin, figure was usu- 
ally to be seen, on fine afternoons, sitting on 


8 


Mary Tracy. 


a projection of rock with a tiny atom of hu- 
manity in her arms or beside her on a shawl. 

So she was sitting one Sunday afternoon 
when a wonderful thing happened. A gen- 
tleman passing by gave her a silver quarter 
of a dollar, and so laid the foundation of her 
fortune. The gentleman was one of those 
idle pleasure-seekers who love to wander 
about in unusual places and enter into con- 
versation with unusual people. He was a 
bit of an artist in an amateurish kind of 
way, and he had taken a sketch of the child 
from the road below. Of course, he had only 
taken the merest outline, to be filled up later 
if he had the skill, of the face, preternatu- 
rally worn, shaded by thin, unkempt locks 
falling down on the shoulders; of the eyes, 
keen, piercing, intelligent, with a rare sweet- 
ness in their depths that almost startled the 
beholder. He had noted how the scanty cloth- 
ing of sombre hue was relieved by one dash 
of color — a crimson silk scarf — which Mary 
Tracy had found one day blowing about 


Mary Tracy. 


9 


among the rocks. It had probably been lost 
from a carriage, but as no one ever claimed 
it, and as Mrs. McGowan, Mary’s adopted 
mother, had no use for it, it remained in the 
child’s possession, and she always put it on 
on Sundays or great occasions. So the artist, 
noting this bit of color and a certain grace 
with which it was worn, as well as all the rest, 
drew the child and her unconscious charge, 
a somewhat heavy-featured infant. His con- 
versation with Mary had been somewhat as 
follows : 

“ You live here on these rocks? ” 

“Yes, sir; over to McGowan’s shanty.” 
And she pointed to that residence, just visi- 
ble among the gray surroundings. 

“ How old are you ? ” 

“ Turned thirteen, Mrs. McGowan says.” 

“ Is she your mother ? ” 

“No; I hain’t got any mother.” 

“Do you like living here?” 

Mary stared. 

“ I guess so,” she said, with some wonder. 


10 


Mary Tracy. 


She had never lived anywhere else. 

“ Do you often go down into the city ? " 

“ I've been down twice," she said, looking 
towards the dusky mass of buildings dimly 
discernible, as though she were speaking of 
some distant country. "I’ve been to the 
Park, too," she added, “ three times; and I 
was up to the Bronx River." 

This particular recollection seemed to af- 
ford the girl a special delight. Her whole 
face brightened, and it was then that the ob- 
server noted the gleam of those wonderful 
eyes. They seemed to catch the sunlight in 
them and hold it there. 

“ Do you go to school ? " 

The sunlight faded. 

“ No," she said. 

“ Can you read ? " 

A slight flush crept into the pale cheeks, 
and the head was solemnly shaken. 

‘‘You ought to learn." 

“I've got to take care of him," she said, 
briefly, pointing to the baby. 


Mary Tracy. 


11 


“I must think about it and see what can 
be done.” 

If he ever did think about it the result of 
his meditations must have been unsatisfac- 
tory, as nothing more was heard from him. 
But he dropped a quarter of a dollar into 
Mary’s hand, and so set her dreaming of a 
fortune that might be made. 

She held the coin tight, till she heard Mrs. 
McGowan calling to her to bring the baby in. 
Mary rose at once to obey, the setting sun 
clothing her in a garment of glory as she 
walked among the rocks, cautiouslv feeling 
her way for the sake of the infant in her 
arms. Mrs. McGowan, who was not in a 
very good humor, gave her a slap over the 
shoulders for keeping the baby out late, and 
so brought her sharply back to reality. But 
she said nothing, only laid the child in its 
rude crib, smoothing its sparse hair over its 
forehead. 

Mr. McGowan soon came in for his sup- 
per. He was a good-natured man, always 


12 


Mary Tracy. 


kind to Mary, to whom he often flung a 
pleasant word in the shape of a jest, and 
whom she consequently liked. Mrs. Mc- 
Gowan’s tongue was occasionally sharp, and 
she sometimes emphasized its utterances 
with the weight of her hand. But she would 
probably have administered the same rude 
justice to her own children had they lived, 
and she treated Mary, in the main, kindly 
enough. 

As soon as Mary had a moment to her- 
self she stole out of the open door of the 
shanty. The moon, struggling through dark, 
ragged-looking clouds, shone upon her little 
figure as she made her way stealthily towards 
a certain point. There was something weird 
in the scene, and it communicated its weird- 
ness in some measure to the child. She 
passed swiftly from rock to rock, no longer 
cautiously as when she held the infant, but 
with the fearless step of one who had trod- 
den these uneven surfaces from early child- 
hood. 


Mary Tracy. 


13 


At last she stopped and looked cautiously 
about her. The moon went behind a cloud at 
the moment, as though it refrained from 
peering into her secrets. Mary suddenly 
stooped and began to feel about cautiously 
with her disengaged hand. In the other she 
held the coin so closely that it left its im- 
print upon her palm. Having found what 
she sought — a small cavity in the rock — she 
deposited there with the greatest care that 
wonderful piece of silver, the like of which 
she had never possessed in all her life before. 
She carefully covered the entrance to the 
cavity with leaves, and stole away from the 
spot with the utmost caution, looking to the 
right and left and over the edge of the cliff, 
as if she suspected that her presence there 
might be remarked and the secret hiding- 
place of her treasure be discovered. 

Between that spot and the house she met 
Michael McGowan, who was strolling about, 
smoking his clay pipe in contentment. She 
shivered as she thought how near she had 


14 


Mary Tracy. 


been to detection. Not that Michael would 
have deprived her of the coin, but he might 
have talked about it in his careless way and 
so led to her being deprived of it. 

“Hello, Mary!” he cried out. “Is that 
yourself? Sure, I took you for a sperrit — 
for ‘Petticoat Loose’ herself; an’ that was 
the name of a ghost that used to walk the 
Rock of Cashel by night when I was a boy.” 

Mary was interested at once, and stopped 
to ask some questions about the ghost with 
the remarkable name, who belonged to that 
very ancient period when Michael was a boy. 
For in Mary’s opinion the stout, well-pre- 
served man of fifty was of the patriarchal 
times. 

“I’m thinkin’ you’d better go in,” said 
Michael, after a while, with a significant 
nod towards the house. “ Herself will be 
lookin’ for you.” 

Michael himself stood somewhat in awe 
of “ herself ” when she was out of temper, 
though occasionally, when his Tipperary 


Mary Tracy. 


15 


blood was up, he asserted his authority and 
let the household know who was master. 
But this did not very often happen, and he 
ordinarily walked in the way pointed out 
by his hard-working, if sometimes irritable, 
wife. 

Mary did as Michael directed, gliding 
away, with her graceful, lithe movements, 
out and in of the moonlit patches — for the 
great luminary above seemed as if playing at 
“ hide and seek ” with the child, now throw- 
ing this point of rock into high relief with 
its brilliance, now darkening that other pro- 
jection with deepest blackness. Mrs. Mc- 
Gowan did not specially notice the girl’s en- 
trance. She had just got the baby to sleep, 
and merely signed to Mary to be still and 
not awaken him. 

As it was Sunday night, there was no 
work to be done. The rough patching and 
mending over which Mary often bent her 
weary back was laid aside. So the little 
girl sat watching the shadows climbing up 


16 


Mary Tracy. 


and down on the unpainted wall, and the 
moonlight stealing in through the window, 
two panes of which were gone. She had a 
sense of relief in being free from toil, but 
she had also something of that aimlessness 
which is apt to attack busy people in their 
moments of leisure. She was thinking of 
the silver which she had hidden away in the 
rocks, and she was planning a dozen things 
which she should like to do with it, though 
resolving all the while to keep it until she 
should have added more and more and more 
to it. In all her life, she had only possessed 
one penny, which she had found among the 
rocks, and a five-cent piece, which Michael 
McGowan had once given her at Christmas. 

“ If I could get work, I might earn some,” 
she said to herself, with sudden energy. 
“ If I could hold horses or run errands, like 
the boys do.” 

But reflection showed her that she could 
not very well do either one or the other, with 
the baby in her arms. 


Mary Tracy. 


17 


“ If only Jim would grow ! ” she thought, 
despairingly. “ But it ain’t no use. He 
never will.” 

It seemed to her that, by the slow process 
of babyhood, the time would never come 
when Jim could walk or run himself. 

“ I’ll try somethin’, anyhow,” she con- 
cluded. “ See if I don’t.” 

Mrs. McGowan, who was unconscious of 
the implied challenge, told her just then, 
in a loud whisper, to be stirring early in 
the morning, as it was wash-day. Upon 
this hint, Mary set about preparing for bed. 
The crimson scarf was folded and laid away 
for another week, and so closed the Sab- 
bath, the day of comparative rest for little 
Mary Tracy and for many another toiler. 


CHAPTER II. 


MARY AND JIM ARE IN DANGER. 

Mary was up betimes next morning, as 
Mrs. McGowan had commanded, and after 
a breakfast of bread, with molasses, which 
was held to be cheaper than best butter, and 
a glass of water from the well outside, Mary 
set to work. She wore a very faded skirt 
and a blouse of the coarsest material, sadly 
worn besides. This was in preparation for 
the washing, a certain portion of which fell 
to her share, and which she did before Jim 
was stirring. 

She was soon up to her elbows in warm 
suds, scrubbing away at the washboard and 
dashing the clothes up and down, with a 
vigor which could scarcely have been ex- 
pected from her slender frame. Her 
18 


Mary and Jim are in Danger. 


19 


thoughts often wandered to that spot in the 
rocks outside where her treasure lay con- 
cealed. She had slipped out before begin- 
ning work that morning to assure herself of 
its welfare. The leaves which filled the en- 
trance to the cavity had not been disturbed, 
and the rock still held the silver piece which 
meant so much to her. 

It was late in the afternoon before she 
got out to her favorite station, towards the 
edge of the rocks, where she could see every- 
thing that passed on the road below, while 
sitting securely in the sunshine with Jim. 
The baby lay wide awake, but quiet, upon 
her lap, its round blue eyes blinking up at 
the sky, with the meditative look of pro- 
found gravity which only a baby can assume. 
Its chubby hands opened and closed, and 
grasped at everything within its range, or 
at nothing, with equal energy and deter- 
mination. Only, when it did succeed in get- 
ting hold of anything, it instantly let go 
again with the greatest indifference. As the 


20 


Mary and Jim are in Danger. 


baby stared at the sky, Mary Tracy stared 
down at it. 

“You got a weenie nose, Jim,” she said, 
touching that organ, which brought the 
baby’s eyes down from the sky and set them 
wandering about till they found their way 
to her face, “and a tiny mouth, and your 
eyes is awful round.” 

The baby received these remarks in pro- 
found silence, but, happening to catch 
Mary’s eye, broke out into a chuckling 
laugh, as if it perfectly understood the joke. 

“ Oh, you’s a laughin’ ! ” said Mary. 
“And what at, I’d like to know? You’s 
a keepin’ the joke to yourself, so you is.” 

At this the baby seemed to laugh harder 
than ever, while Mary, by a sudden impulse, 
cried : 

“Wait till I tells yer a secret, Jim.” 

Mary, looking all around to be certain 
that no one was in earshot, put her lips to the 
baby’s ear and whispered: 

“ I’ve got a whole quarter, so I have ! ” 


Mary and Jim are in Danger. 


21 


The baby crowed with delight. 

“HI mebbe buy you somethin’ out of it 
sometime, when you can walk.” 

This also seemed to tickle the baby, who 
was in a particularly happy frame of mind 
that afternoon. But he presently grew 
grave again, in a philosophical meditation 
upon the character of a sunbeam which fell 
across his face and down upon the flat sur- 
face of the rock beside him. 

As Mary thus sat with her charge in per- 
fect security, with no shadow of coming evil 
to disturb her, danger was threatening them 
both from an unexpected source. They 
were sitting in a sheltered sort of nook, with 
rocks on every side, and with only a tiny 
path which served as entrance and exit. It 
was upon this path that Mary saw a shadow 
fall, and, looking quickly up, saw first a 
beard, then two eyes glaring fiercely at her, 
and lastly a pair of horns. 

“ Gosh ! ” cried Mary, in affright, ducking 
her head as if she had already felt the shock 


22 


Mary and Jim are in Danger. 


of those formidable horns. “It’s Moloney’s 
cross Billy ! ” 

As she bent her head, she also shielded the 
baby, spreading her ragged cloth cape over 
him by an almost involuntary movement. 
The goat was, indeed, too far off to strike, 
and for the moment did not seem disposed 
for active warfare. He simply stood and 
stared at the children. Ho sooner had Mary 
gathered up herself and her charge, how- 
ever, glancing around her with a futile hope 
of escape, than the goat took steps to pre- 
vent it. He began to descend the path 
which stood between them and home, his 
head well down, his terrific horns in evi- 
dence. 

“ You get out, Billy ! ” cried Mary, in 
terror. “ You go away, there’s a good beast. 
Hoa! good Billy.” 

Billy came on to the charge. Mary could 
have escaped by clambering up the steep rock 
at either side. But there was Jim. Clasp- 
ing the baby in her arms and covering him 


Mary and Jim are in Danger . 


23 


entirely with her cape, she dodged the first 
blow of the enemy by springing to one side. 
The goat passed by, but made a side thrust 
at her, which struck her severely in the side. 
Yet she never relaxed her hold of Jim, keep- 
ing him as well as possible out of the ani- 
mal’s reach, but exposing herself recklessly 
the while she sprang from side to side, thus 
escaping at least some of the blows. 

The goat was growing seriously angry, 
and once he nearly got Mary down. But the 
brave child recovered herself and continued 
the struggle, never once thinking of sacri- 
ficing the baby, though she several times felt 
the force of those sharp horns and that bat- 
tering-ram of a head. Her one idea was to 
save him, at least, from harm, and, as the 
goat’s attacks became fiercer and more fre- 
quently repeated, she held Jim up, striving 
to reach the flat surface of rock above. This 
deprived her of her last means of defence, 
and she began to fear that the goat would 
really kill her. She knew that she could not 


24 


Mary and Jim are in Danger. 


hold out much longer, and she redoubled her 
cries for help, to which Jim, becoming 
alarmed, lent his best efforts. 

This finally brought Mrs. McGowan out 
of her shanty, who, seeing the fearful situ- 
ation, screamed in her turn, but stood look- 
ing in helpless terror, while Mary, every mo- 
ment growing weaker, cried: 

“ Run for the Moloneys ! They’ll take 
Billy off afore he kills us.” 

This woke Mrs. McGowan to a sense of the 
only practical thing that was to be done, and 
she ran, screaming, in the direction of the 
Moloney household. The eldest boy Teddy 
came quickly out, and, seizing a pitchfork, 
ran towards the spot, accompanied by half 
a dozen other boys who got wind of the 
affair. Teddy, from one of the rocks above, 
engaged the goat with the pitchfork till 
Mary had time to creep feebly up the path, 
where Mrs. McGowan, weeping, received 
Jim from her arms. He had not received a 
single scratch. With Mary the case was 


Mary and Jim are in Banger. 


25 


very different indeed. Almost fainting 
from the reaction after her long struggle, 
bruised, weary, and aching in every joint, 
she managed to crawl to the shanty. There 
she was put to bed by Mrs. McGowan, who 
was fairly overflowing with gratitude for the 
baby’s safety, and who fully realized all that 
Mary had done. She did what she could for 
the scratches and bruises, and made her a 
cup of tea, which unwonted luxury filled 
Mary with a strange sense of comfort, as she 
lay upon the hard bed, aching and bruised 
though she was. This new feeling of being 
cared for and permitted to rest helped her 
to forget her injuries. 

When Michael came home and heard of 
the affair, and looked at poor, exhausted lit- 
tle Mary, the tears came into his eyes. His 
Tipperary blood was up, too, and he was so 
angry that his wife had great difficulty in 
preventing him from going straight over to 
the Moloneys. Mrs. McGowan was a pru- 
dent woman, and anxious to keep on good 


26 


Mary and Jim are in Danger. 


terms with her neighbors, and she knew very 
well that, if Michael were to go over there 
in his actual state of mind, there would be 
trouble. 

“ Til find out who let that goat loose, or 
I’ll know why ! ” said he. 

“ Well, wait till you’ve had a bit of sup- 
per, anyway,” said Mrs. McGowan. And 
during supper she persuaded him to put off 
his visit till the next morning, knowing that 
he would by that time have cooled down. 

After supper he went in again to see Mary. 
Her room consisted of a small space parti- 
tioned off from the main apartment. It 
had no other furniture than a settle-bed and 
a packing-case, which did duty at once for 
chair and bureau. 

“ You saved the little one’s life,” Michael 
said, huskily, “ an’ I’ll not forget it to you.” 

A pleased look made that same glow in 
the child’s eyes which the artist had noted, 
as Mary smiled gratefully up into the rough 
face of the man. 


Mary and Jim are in Danger. 


27 


“ Do you think Billy could have kilt 
Jim? ” she asked, with some awe in her tone. 

“One blow of that brute’s head would 
have done it,” said Michael, “or, mebbe, 
it’s maimed for life he’d have been, with 
them horns.” 

Mary shuddered. The remembrance of 
the horns was still very fresh in her mind. 

“ I’ll go over to the Moloneys in the morn- 
in’, as soon as any of them’s stirrin’, and 
I’ll find out, onst for all, if that beast is to 
be allowed the freedom of the rocks or not. 
I’ll have him shot, one of these fine days, 
if they don’t mind what they’re about.” 

Mary looked timidly up as he spoke. She 
would like to have asked him not to quarrel 
with the Moloneys about it, for Mr. Moloney 
was not as sober as he might be, and was 
sometimes quarrelsome. But she lost cour- 
age when she saw the angry gleam in 
Michael’s eyes. As he was about leaving the 
room, Michael pressed into Mary’s hand a 
five-cent piece, which was not much, but was- 


28 


Mary and Jim are in Danger. 


nevertheless, a tolerably large percentage of 
his day’s earnings. 

“ Don’t say a word,” he whispered. “ It’s 
little to what I’d like to give you this night.” 

Small as the offering was, it filled Mary 
with delight. Coming so soon upon her 
other treasure, it seemed to justify all her 
hopes. The silver quarter given her by the 
stranger had been evidently a luck-piece. 
She would be rich, and perhaps before long. 

And then ! Visions of that bygone day 

at the Bronx River began to float before her 
mind. She seemed to scent again the per- 
fume of clover blossoms and of the wild 
flowers she had gathered on the banks of 
that stream, and once more to see mirrored 
in it the feathery tops of the trees. Oh, 
it had all been so beautiful! The water 
which the poet describes as running through 
Paradise could not have been fairer than the 
tiny Bronx River in the mind of that child, 
for whom pleasures were few, and to whom 
fortune had denied so much. 


Mary and Jim are in Banger. 29 

In the feverishness which followed upon 
the excitement and the injuries of the day, 
she had a longing for the shaded spots near 
the river’s bank, where cool trees met over- 
head, and the bushes in matted clusters 
crowded the shore to mingle with tall 
weeds and grasses of emerald green. When 
she had made some more money, she would 
take Mrs. McGowan and the baby, and Mi- 
chael, too, if he could go, and they should 
all spend the day in that lovely place. 

She began to plan, too, how she would go 
to school just for a while each day while the 
baby slept, and learn to read all the won- 
derful books that there were. Teddy Mo- 
loney had brought home from school some 
lovely books written for Catholic children, 
which had been given him for prizes, and 
he had read some of them to Mary. Teddy’s 
pronunciation had not been very good, and 
he had jumped some of the big words and 
stumbled over others. But, still, that read- 
ing up among the rocks had been a great 


80 


Mary and Jim are in Danger. 


treat, and in Mary’s memory ranked next 
to the Bronx Biver excursion. Oh, how 
she would love to go to the Sisters’ school 
near by, and learn to read for herself ! 

She carefully put her five cents under her 
pillow, and made up her mind to go out very 
early in the morning and put it in the hid- 
ing-place, with her quarter. Her mind then 
slipped away, half deliriously, to that little 
stream, which she seemed to hear gurgling 
between its banks and to see shining in the 
sunset. 

Meantime, in the adjoining room, Michael 
said to his wife: 

“ That’s a good girl in there ! ” And he 
pointed towards where Mary lay. 

His wife nodded. 

“ She saved the boy’s life,” he added. 

“She did that/' agreed Mrs. McGowan, 
cordially. “An’ if you could have seen the 
way she was in, and that beast butting at her, 
and the state of her clothes, and her only 
thought all the time for the baby ! ” 


Mary and Jim are in Danger . 


31 


Mrs. McGowan paused to take breath, and 
then added, in a lower tone : 

“ I was thinking Michael, it was mebbe 
a reward for the good act you done in takin' 
her in, when her father died.” 

“ I couldn't have done less,” said Michael. 
“ There wasn't one to give her bit nor sup ; 
an', for the matter of that, it was you had 
the trouble of her ever since.” 

“I was too hard on her at times, I'm 
afraid,” added Mrs. McGowan, in the full- 
ness of her gratitude. “ I'll be better to her 
for the future; for, I'm thinkin', it was the 
blessin' she brought upon the house, that 
saved our helpless infant this day.” 

So here again, though Mary was unaware 
of it, not having overheard the conversation, 
she was in luck. 


CHAPTER III. 


MARY HAS A VISIT FROM A DOCTOR. 

But in the morning, when Mary woke, she 
was quite unable to stir. The soreness and 
stiffness had grown so much worse that 
Michael wanted to insist on sending for a 
doctor. This his wife opposed, saying that 
for the moment there was no hurry ; that she 
would have to tidy up the house first; and 
that, as they were so hard pressed for money, 
it was better to wait and see. She promised 
to run over to the dispensary, in the course 
of the morning, and get something for 
Mary’s bruises. 

While she was gone, Mary was left alone 
in the shanty, the baby’s crib having been 
pulled up close to the bed, in case Jim should 
awake. She watched through the open win- 


Mary has a Visit from a Doctor. 


33 


dow, a high square one in the hall, which 
she could see from her bed, and which gave 
light to both rooms, the wash still flap- 
ping on the line outside. MichaePs red flan- 
nel shirt made a vivid contrast to the other 
articles of clothing, mostly of gray cotton. 
The child amused herself making up stories, 
after a rude fashion, about them, as though 
they had been people, and so the time passed. 

All of a sudden, it struck the little girl 
that, if she were to be kept in bed all that 
day, and, perhaps, a portion of the next, it 
might go hard with her treasure in the hol- 
low of the rock. Besides, she wanted to put 
her five cents in safety, lest it should geHost. 
So she suddenly resolved that she would take 
advantage of Mrs. McGowan’s absence to 
visit her treasure-house. 

When she first attempted to rise, she fell 
back again, a feeling of hopeless dismay com- 
ing over her. Perhaps she would never be 
able to rise again. But her will was so 
strong that it finally prevailed over her weak- 


34 Mary has a Visit from a Doctor.. 

ness and the pain which every effort cost 
her. She succeeded in getting up and slip- 
ping into a dress, over which she put her 
ragged cape, and set out. She was not con- 
cerned about her feet. In warm weather 
she went barefoot just as often as not. 

Every step was a positive agony to her, 
especially upon the rocky ground. She had 
to go very slowly, and to hold by projections 
of the rock. But, at last, she sank down ex- 
hausted on the ground, close to the hollow 
which contained her fortune. She put in 
her hand, and, with a deep-drawn sigh of 
relief, discovered that everything was as she 
had left it. She drew out the shining coin, 
and, having held it a moment or two in her 
hand lovingly, she restored it to its place, 
with the five-cent piece by its side, and began 
to creep slowly back towards the house. 

She was terrified to see Mrs. McGowan 
standing at the door. That worthy woman 
had returned in her absence. Mary fully 
expected to be greeted by a storm of angry 


Mary has a Visit from a Doctor . 


35 


words, intermingled, perhaps, with blows. 
But Mrs. McGowan only cried out: 

“ Such a child ! What a fright you gave 
me ! What in mercy’s name took you out ? ” 

Fortunately she did not insist upon an an- 
swer from Mary, who hung down her head, 
and stood blushing and confused, fearful 
that the truth would be wrung from her. 

“ Get into bed this minnit,” said Mrs. Mc- 
Gowan, but not unkindly. “ The doctor 
said mebbe he’d look in upon you in the 
course of the day.” 

Mary could not have been much more 
alarmed had she heard that a dragon pro- 
posed paying her a visit. She had never in 
her life been visited by a doctor, and had, 
indeed, never seen one. The idea was ap- 
palling. She got into bed, and lay there 
very quietly, quaking inwardly. She pic- 
tured the doctor, as she had seen him in 
Teddy’s book, with great glasses and a wealth 
of hooked nose. 

She was, therefore, agreeably surprised 


36 Mary has a Visit from a Doctor. 

when a young man came into the room, very 
fashionably dressed, with a pleasing counte- 
nance and a singularly gentle manner. He 
sat down in the place which had been vacated 
by Jim and the crib, for indoors, at least, 
Jim’s bed usually went with him. The doc- 
tor asked many questions, holding Mary’s 
pulse, and carefully examining her injuries, 
after which he looked very grave. 

“ This child will have to be kept very quiet 
for some time,” he said to Mrs. McGowan, 
when she went with him to the outer door. 
“ She is very badly injured.” 

“And all along of that rascally goat,” 
cried Mrs. McGowan. “ And the baby 
might have been killed!” 

“Possibly the girl, too,” said the doctor, 
dryly. “ She has had a very narrow escape ; 
but her injuries are not, I think, likely to 
prove fatal.” 

“ Fatal ! ” cried Mrs. McGowan. “ Oh ! 
then, doctor dear, don’t tell me she’s in any 
danger.” 


Mary has a Visit from a Doctor. 


37 


“ I have told you that I don’t think she 
is/’ said the doctor; “but we must take 
great care. I will drop in occasionally, and 
see that she has all she needs.” 

“ God reward you ! ” said Mrs. McGowan. 
“ For you can see for yourself how we are 
here, and she not a drop’s blood to us. Not 
that we wouldn’t share the last crumb with 
her ; hut we had sickness and death last win- 
ter, and lost three of our children, and their 
father out of work at the time. That’s been 
a sore setback to us. So, you see, it isn’t 
much we can do. Och, but it’s hard times 
the poor does have, anyway ! ” 

“The same story everywhere,” thought 
the doctor, who, having heard Mrs. Mc- 
Gowan to the end, took his leave, walking 
homeward through the Park. “ It would be 
disheartening only for the patience that 
most of the poor show. That explains what 
it’s meant for. As for this little girl, she 
came within an ace of losing her life. I 
suspect she’s a bit of a heroine.” 


38 Mary has a Visit from a Doctor. 

" Doctors ain’t all like that one in Teddy’s 
book/’ thought Mary. "If this one had 
been, he’d have surely, surely scared me, so 
he would.” 

When she fell asleep, she had a confused 
dream, in which the real doctor, the doctor 
of fiction, and the goat were all mixed up 
in a wild and terrifying manner. Truth to 
tell, Mary had been almost as much fright- 
ened at the prospect of the doctor’s visit as 
she had been when she perceived Billy about 
to attack her, and these combined terrors had 
affected her sleep very unpleasantly. She 
awoke screaming, to find Michael and Mrs. 
McGowan bending anxiously over her. 

" I was only dreamin’/’ she said, with a 
faint smile, "but ’twas awful. I thought 
the doctor had a goat’s head on and specs, 
jest like the picter in the book.” 

But she never again felt any horror of the 
doctor. In fact, she began to look eagerly 
forward to his visits. As for him, his med- 
ical associates during the next few days used 


Mary has a Visit from a Doctor. 


to quiz him very much about a favorite pa- 
tient somewhere up in the Nineties. 

“ She's got a wonderful pair of eyes,” the 
doctor once replied, musingly. 

“ Oh ! I say, that scents of danger,” cried 
one of the students. 

“ Danger far off,” smiled the doctor, “ as 
this siren is somewhere about twelve. But 
she has got eyes that might be a fortune to 
her, if she lived in a brownstone rather than 
a shanty. Only, then, she wouldn't need 
them.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE DOCTOR DOES MARY A SERVICE. 

Mary certainly did look forward to the 
doctor’s visits, and little wonder. He had 
always a pleasant word to say, and he was 
so gentle in his ways, and hurt her as little 
as might be, even when he had surgical work 
to do, and stiff iron plates or bands to put 
on, or muscles to straighten out. The doc- 
tor, on his part, admired the wonderful pa- 
tience and fortitude of the child. She never 
uttered a complaint, though he knew that 
she was suffering great pain. She only lay 
and looked at him, with a wistful look in 
her great eyes which appealed to his natur- 
ally tender heart. He was, in fact, growing 
every day more interested in his patient. 

Once he inquired of her concerning a toy 
40 


The Doctor does Mary a Service. 


41 


which lay upon the coverlet. It was a horse, 
which wanted a leg, but was none the less 
precious in Mary’s eyes. Teddy Moloney 
had brought it to the door, when he came to 
inquire, in a shamefaced way, how Mary was 
getting on. 

Michael McGowan had not forgotten his 
intention of going over to the Moloneys. He 
had informed them of the accident, and in- 
quired how it was that the goat had been at 
liberty. This no one had been able to answer, 
and it was concluded that the animal must 
have broken loose. Michael had very 
strongly urged the necessity of keeping the 
goat properly secured for the future, under 
penalty of its expulsion from the rocky king- 
dom, which a few families held in common. 
People said they were squatters, and per- 
haps they were, but they held undisputed 
possession of the place. 

As the Moloneys were sincerely horrified 
at what they had heard, and as Michael, hav- 
ing “ cooled down,” kept his temper, he said 


42 The Doctor does Mary a Service. 

what he had to say with moderation, and the 
amicable relations with the Moloneys re- 
mained undisturbed. So Teddy had come 
with “ the pony,” which, despite its maimed 
condition, was a treasure not often seen upon 
the rocks. It had, indeed, been given to 
Mrs. Moloney, with other broken toys, in a 
house where she had done charwork, and was 
a most valued possession of the Moloneys. 
It was, in fact, only under the grave circum- 
stances of the attack by the goat and Mary’s 
injuries that they would have parted with it 
at all. 

“ I see that this animal needs surgical at- 
tendance, too,” said the doctor. “ Now, 
what would you say, Mary, if I were to take 
him home and set about repairing him ? ” 

Mary looked to see if the doctor was 
laughing. But his face looked grave enough. 
Only his eyes were laughing, and those Mary 
couldn’t see, for they were fixed upon the 
horse. 

“ You know my business is to mend bro- 


The Doctor does Mary a Service. 


43 


ken bones,” said he. “Will you trust me 
with your horse?” 

Mary nodded. She was not a great talker 
at the best, and was rather shy of the doctor 
yet. But she trusted him completely. So 
much so, that she was fast making up her 
mind and screwing up her courage to tell 
him her great secret. 

“Very well, then,” said the doctor, put- 
ting the disabled steed carefully into his in- 
strument case. 

“ Doctor ! ” said Mary. 

“ What is it, little one ? ” said he, kindly, 
busying himself with preparations for de- 
parture. 

But here her courage failed, and she said : 

“ Nothing ! ” 

So the doctor, remaining in ignorance of 
the great secret which was to have been com- 
municated to him, went away with the 
horse. He took considerable care in mend- 
ing it, having procured the missing leg from 
Teddy Moloney. But he did not tell any of 


44 The Doctor does Mary a Service. 

his associates at the College of Physicians 
and Surgeons, where he was taking a post- 
graduate course of lectures. 

“ If the fellows at the P. & S. got hold of 
this,” he said, laughing, “my life wouldn’t 
be worth living. But there’s something 
fetching about that little rock-heroine, and 
I’m going to follow her up. I’ll put Mrs. 
Morrison on the track, too.” 

Great was Mary’s joy when the horse was 
restored to her in perfect condition. It was 
literally as good as new — better, for the doc- 
tor had made some important improvements 
in the trappings. 

It was probably in the first burst of joy 
and gratitude for this favor that Mary finally 
threw off her shyness sufficiently to enter 
upon the great matter of the secret with the 
doctor. She had a double motive in so 
doing. She wanted to be* sure of its safety, 
while her sense of justice urged her to offer 
it to the doctor in recompense for his ser- 
vices. The room was quite empty. Mrs. 


The Doctor does Mary a Service. 


45 


McGowan was taking in washing from the 
line, and Michael had not come home yet. 

“ I'd like to tell you somethin’,” Mary said 
to the doctor. “It’s a secret.” 

“ A secret ! ” cried he, in amusement, for 
Mary’s face looked very grave, and her eyes 
were very dark. 

“What can it be?” thought the doctor, 
curiously. “ And how could there be a cor- 
ner for secrecy in such a life as this ? ” And 
he looked out into the main room of the 
shanty overcrowded with rude furniture, 
clothing, and the stove. 

“ It’s somethin’ ye can do for me,” she 
said, hesitatingly. “I wouldn’t ask, only 
you’s been so good to me.” 

“ Well, what is it, Mary ? ” he said, gently. 

“I’ve got money that I’m savin’,” said 
Mary. 

Money, where all was so poor ! Here was 
a surprise. 

“ I never telled any one afore,” said Mary. 
“It’s hid in the rocks.” 


46 The Doctor does Mary a Service. 

“ Oh ! ” said the doctor, and his face 
looked somewhat grave as Mary stopped and 
fixed her eyes upon his face. He was won- 
dering how money could have come into her 
hands, and secretly. 

“ I was keepin’ it,” she went on, “ towards 
gettin’ some schoolin’ and some other things. 
But you’ve been awful kind, and I wants to 
pay ye.” 

“ To pay me ! ” said the doctor, half 
touched and half amused, and wondering 
still more what the amount was, and where 
she had got it. Patients better off than she 
often neglected to pay him, though he was 
just beginning to practice, and his educa- 
tion had been an expensive one. 

“You needn’t think of that, Mary,” he 
said. “I wouldn’t take a penny from you. 
I was only too glad to help you.” 

A great look of relief and gladness came 
into Mary’s eyes when she heard this. It 
had cost her an immense effort to offer her 
treasure to the doctor. She lay still, the 


The Doctor does Mary a Service. 


47 


tears coming slowly into her eyes and cours- 
ing down her cheeks. At last she said, her 
lips quivering in her excess of gratitude : 

"You’ve been awful good to me, and I’d 
like to pay you.” 

“ Where is this money ? ” said the doctor. 

“ It’s hid in a hole in the rocks,” said 
Mary. “ And I’m afeard it might be took, 
an’ I thought mebbe you’d look if it was 
safe.” 

"If you can tell me just where, I’ll look 
with pleasure,” said the doctor. And this 
was the climax of all he had done for Mary. 

" How much is it ? ” he asked, rising to 
execute the commission, after minute in- 
structions from the patient. 

“ Thirty cents,” said Mary, solemnly. 

The doctor stared. He could not believe 
that he had heard aright. 

“ Cents ! ” he repeated, and he had hard 
work to refrain from laughing when Mary 
nodded assent. The child did not notice, so 
intent was she upon the subject. 


48 The Doctor does Mary a Service. 

“ Twenty-five cents that a gent give me, 
and five cents from Mr. McGowan. It’s a 
lot, ain’t it ? ” 

The laugh died upon the doctor’s lips. 
How little the rich realize the simple pleas- 
ures of the poor, and the trifles that make 
their wealth ! And it’s all a matter of com- 
parison, after all. 

“ I will go and see that it’s all right,” he 
said, and left the room hastily, partly to hide 
a certain emotion. 

He followed the child’s directions as mi- 
nutely as possible, pausing, as he went, to 
take a look at the curious surroundings — the 
pile of rocks, dotted here and there with 
dwellings that might have existed in the 
backwoods. Near one of these he saw the 
warlike Billy, secured by a strong rope, and 
butting the wall of the shanty, in default 
of another antagonist. He saw children, 
scantily clothed, darting in and out among 
the rocks, and watching his own movements 
with curiosity. 


The Doctor does Mary a Service. 


49 


He felt that he would have to bide his 
time, lest Mary’s secret might become known 
to her juvenile neighbors. He strolled 
about, apparently in an aimless way, till he 
had tired out their curiosity. Then he sud- 
denly swooped down upon the rock which 
Mary had described to him, and which he 
knew by certain marks she had herself placed 
in its vicinity. 

He found the little hoard safe in its hid- 
ing-place, and, before he returned it there, 
he searched among the loose change in his 
pocket and added a quarter. He laughed as 
he did so, for quarters were not very plenti- 
ful with him. 

“And my time is not so valuable as it 
should be,” he said to himself. “ If I were a 
prosperous practitioner, I should not have 
time for adventures of this sort. But that 
will come, and, anyhow, I love my profes- 
sion. I wish I could always practice it for 
nothing.” 

He returned to the cabin, and assured 


50 The Doctor does Mary a Service. 

Mary that her fortune was intact, but he did 
not say a word just then about the addition 
he had made to it. Mary was profuse in her 
gratitude, her eyes saying more even than 
her tongue. She asked, too, before he went 
away, if she could be permitted to have Jim 
near her and take care of him some. She 
knew how much Mrs. McGowan had to do, 
and how the care of the baby hampered her 
in her work. Besides, she was really fond 
of the baby. The doctor hesitated, but finally 
gave his consent, only telling his patient 
to be very careful, and not to attempt to lift 
Jim. 

So Jim’s crib was once more placed close 
to the bed, greatly to Mrs. McGowan’s relief, 
it must be owned ; and the baby laughed and 
crowed at Mary, as if he were asking her 
from what strange country she had suddenly 
returned, and why she had taken to follow- 
ing his example by remaining in bed. 

“ You’s never still a quarter of a minnit, 
’cept you’re a sleepin’,” said Mary, regard- 


The Doctor does Mary a Service. 51 

ing him with glee. " Legs and arms, they 
all move together.” 

The baby gave a further exhibition of his 
powers in this respect, as she spoke, kicking 
a shawl which covered him almost into a 
ball. 

"There, you, Jim,” cried Mary, "look 
what you’ve been a doin’ ! ” 

Of course, it was not always fair weather 
in the crib, and it was difficult for Mary to 
soothe its troubled occupant when he began 
what she called one of his "cryin’ spells.” 
Mary, remembering the doctor’s positive 
orders, could not take him up, and could 
only drag herself to the edge of the bed to 
soothe him as best she could. 

" I can’t take ye, Jim; there ain’t no use,” 
she would say, rather piteously, as the baby 
seemed to stretch its arms towards her. 
Sometimes he seized her hair, and gave it so 
vicious a pull that it brought the tears to 
her eyes. But fortunately the baby hand 
speedily relaxed its hold, and Mary had, be- 


62 The Doctor does Mary a Service. 

sides, the consolation of knowing that “ Jim 
didn’t mean nothin’ ! ” 

Troublesome as he sometimes was, he 
served to pass the days, which otherwise 
would have been very irksome to active little 
Mary. She told him stories, which he did 
not understand, but to which he listened 
with meditative gravity, interrupting them 
by crowing laughs or ear-piercing screams, 
or sucking his thumb by way of variety. 
She told him over and over again about the 
quarter and the five-cent piece, and dwelt 
upon that far-off future when he should be 
able to walk, and she would expend a part of 
her fortune in taking him upon some distant 
excursion, even to the very confines of Cen- 
tral Park. 

Teddy Moloney came sometimes to the 
door to ask about Mary, and brought her 
once in a while an offering of an apple or a 
handful of nuts. This seemed wonderful 
to Mary, who had got so few presents in 
her life, and it was apparently part of that 


The Doctor does Mary a Service. 


53 


good fortune which had suddenly overtaken 
her. 

One or other of the neighbor women came 
in every day, with that kindness of the poor 
to one another. They recommended all sorts 
of different remedies for Mary, few of which 
were ever employed. They usually stood 
gossiping with Mrs. McGowan, talking of 
the affairs of that little colony upon the 
rocks, which had its jealousies and heart- 
burnings, its good and evil fortune, like 
other colonies. The doings and especially 
the shortcomings of this or that man, wom- 
an, or child were the favorite topic, as in 
more polished circles. The Moloneys, for 
instance, talked about their neighbors’ trou- 
blesome children. The neighbors, in turn, 
dilated upon "that vagabond of a goat,” to 
whom Larry, the younger of the Moloney 
boys, and the most mischievous, was very 
freely compared. 

Mary listened, as she had listened over and 
over again ever since she was able to under- 


54 The Doctor does Mary a Service. 

stand, the self-same themes being still under 
discussion. The women, as a rule, each in 
turn took Jim from his crib and danced him 
in the air, in a manner quite awful to the 
uninitiated, and inquired how much he 
weighed and how many teeth he had, and if 
he showed any signs of putting his feet under 
him. They asked, in fact, half a score of 
questions which are being asked, the world 
over, wherever there is a gathering of wom- 
en, and one of those mysterious lordlings 
who assert the supremacy of the human race. 
Never again in life is man so absolutely mas- 
ter of his surroundings, or, at least, the liv- 
ing portion of them, as during his first year. 
Michael, coming home at evening, often 
brought a colored picture cut out of a paper, 
or a sugar stick, which Mary shared with 
Jim and found invaluable as a means of 
keeping him quiet. It went very far in this 
direction, too, for a single crumb put upon 
his tongue would suffice, in most cases, to 
still his clamors. 


The Doctor does Mary a Service. 


55 


So wore away the time of Mary’s enforced 
helplessness. And after all, the days were 
no more uneventful than those of her health, 
the variety then being chiefly in the shape of 
hard work. 


CHAPTER V. 


mary's first day out. 

It was a very joyful day, indeed, for Mary 
Tracy, when she was able to go out once 
more into the sunshine, which, like herself, 
was pale and thin. For November was near- 
ing on to its close, and the lines of bushes and 
trees marking the entrance to the Park were 
growing scanty in their covering, and giv- 
ing signs that the old age of Nature was 
stealing on them. 

Still, it was pleasant to be out again under 
the blue sky. The shanty was both dingy 
and squalid, though Mary Tracy had no pre- 
cise perception of this fact, having never 
known anything which might teach her by 
contrast. The doctor had had a special in- 
valid chair brought up from the hospital, 
56 


Mary's First Day Out. 


57 


and had himself arranged it comfortably 
in the rocks, carrying his patient thither 
in his own strong arms and settling her for 
the afternoon. The baby was out, too, and 
Teddy Moloney had volunteered to assist 
Mary by keeping an eye on Jim. 

He was sincerely glad, indeed, to see them 
out again. He was the only one of the rock 
children who had ever seemed to take to 
Mary. And it was as well. He was a good 
lad, and had lately made his First Commun- 
ion at the school, where he stood very high in 
the Brothers’ esteem. To add to Mary’s 
pleasure on that happy day, Teddy volun- 
teered to bring over his book and read to her 
a bit. He had much improved in pronun- 
ciation, and could manage most of the big 
.words. He was, indeed, progressing very 
rapidly at the Brothers’, and promised to be 
a prize pupil. 

"And you, Jim, keep still, not a word 
out of you, while Teddy’s reading,” said 
Mary. 


58 


Mary's First Day Out . 


Happily the baby’s eyes were caught by 
the peak of Teddy’s cap, which seemed to 
him worthy of serious consideration, and the 
reading progressed very favorably for some 
time. Occasionally, Mary would interrupt 
to ask the meaning of a word, and Teddy 
would explain as well as he was able, though 
it didn’t always happen that he used dic- 
tionary language. Sometimes he stopped 
himself in presence of an imposing array of 
several syllables. 

“ That’s a jaw-breaker for you,” he would 
explain, counting the letters so that Mary 
might know how big the word was. But an 
interruption came when Jim began to re- 
flect upon the miseries of the world in gen- 
eral and his own in particular. His face 
suddenly assumed the appearance of a rub- 
ber doll, and Mary, with her fatal gift of 
experience, knew that the worst had come. 
Teddy, more sanguine, hoped to stop the 
sounds which immediately followed the con- 
tortions by cries of: 


Mary's First Day Out. 


59 


“Shut your mouth!” or “Hold up, or 
I’ll stuff a potato in ! ” 

In vain. The story had reached a most 
interesting point, towards which Teddy had 
been hurrying, surmounting the big words as 
steeplechase riders do the hurdles. Mary 
leaned forward with the calm of despair, 
hopelessly patting the wailing baby, and ad- 
dressing him in soothing tones. Relief came 
at last from an unhoped-for source. The 
lively strains of a piano organ suddenly 
sounded from the road below. Jim hesita- 
ted, quavered, and finally stopped in sheer 
astonishment. What kind of an instrument 
was this, and what manner of world might 
it be, where such unearthly sounds could be 
heard ? 

Mary, encouraged, directed his attention 
towards the place where the man stood, sur- 
rounded by a very swarm of children, and 
playing those familiar airs which are a per- 
petual surprise when so rendered. Teddy 
even took Jim in his arms — he had had some 


60 


Mary's First Day Out. 


practice of the sort at home — so that the 
baby might have a better opportunity of 
hearing and being charmed by the siren 
strains. In any case, music on his own part 
would have been impossible, and Jim was 
far too sensible a baby not to realize the 
fact. He recognized his own limitations, 
and so fully accepted the inevitable, indeed, 
as to applaud his rival’s music. He ex- 
pressed his satisfaction by all those devices 
known to babyhood, so that Mary had to 
wipe his chin, over which he dribbled in the 
exuberance of his delight. 

Mary, indeed, enjoyed the music as the 
children of the rich enjoy an opera, and 
Teddy cut capers as each familiar strain fell 
upon his ears. When the organ had moved 
off, the man waving his hat and bowing to 
the trio on the rocks, just as if they had 
given him a donation, which needless to say 
they had not, the reading was resumed. 

It was a peaceful and a happy scene, and 
so thought the doctor as he* strolled up the 


Mary's First Day Out . 


61 


path unobserved: little Mary sitting in the 
sunshine, with the crimson scarf thrown over 
her shoulders, with no fear of being called 
to work or of being slapped or scolded; the 
baby quiescent upon the shawl at her feet, 
and Teddy beside her reading, which com- 
pleted her happiness. Happiness, after all, 
is a comparative thing, for no millionaire's 
child, with the world at its feet, was happier 
than little Mary Tracy at that moment. 

She was ready to sing with joy, and in the 
pauses of the reading, in fact, did so, with 
an eerie voice not altogether unmusical. It 
was in one of these pauses that the doctor 
joined the group, sitting down with them, 
and conversing after his genial fashion. In- 
deed, his pleasant laugh could presently be 
heard all over the rocks, so that some of the 
neighbors put their heads out of windows 
to see who it was that laughed so long and so 
merrily. 

He had merely stopped, he said, on his way 
back from some other patient, to know how 


62 


Mary’s First Day Out. 


Mary had been affected by her first outing. 
He was more anxious about this little patient 
than either the child herself or any of those 
about her knew. Hers had been a serious 
case from the first. Teddy was presently 
called away to go an errand for his mother, 
and Mary then asked the doctor to take a 
look at the money and see that it was safe. 
He returned, remarking with a very grave 
face: 

“ You have done wisely in hiding it in the 
rocks, for money seems to grow there.” 

Mary put back her thin locks from her eyes 
with a hand which had grown thin and 
wasted, and looked up at him inquiringly. 

“ I certainly found two quarters there,” 
he said, in the same solemn tone, “ and you 
told me there was only one.” 

He purposely gave her this information 
to make that day of her first sitting up as 
happy as possible. Mary looked puzzled for 
an instant, then she cried out : 

"Oh, it was you! It was you!” And 


Mary's First Day Out. 


63 


her feeble strength giving way, she sobbed 
aloud. 

“ There now, Mary, be quiet!” said the 
doctor. “You mustn’t give way like that. 
You must brace up your nerves, you know.” 

Mary was quiet in a moment, but she 
looked up into the doctor’s kind face with 
those wonderful eyes, which caught and held 
the pale gleam of the November sun in their 
depths. The doctor was once more deeply 
moved. Somehow this child produced a 
strange effect upon his mind. She seemed 
to embody to him the pathos of poverty and 
of endurance. He asked her if she would 
like to go into the house, so that he could 
carry her while he was there, but she begged 
so hard to be allowed to stay out longer that 
he yielded. 

“ Mrs. McGowan and Teddy between them 
will get you in,” he said, cheerfully. And as 
he left her and took the car homeward, he 
said to himself : “ The rich have very little 
idea of the pleasure they might give them- 


64 


Mary's First Day Out. 


selves in going among the poor. I wouldn’t 
exchange the best fee I ever got for that 
child’s gratitude this morning. And I’m 
not an over-sentimental man, either.” 

The students at the P. & S. asked him that 
afternoon, in their bantering way, how his 
patient in the Nineties was getting on. 

“ Have you done her any good, old chap- 
pie?” said one. 

“ I don’t know,” laughed Mary’s doctor ; 
“ but she’s done me some.” 

And he wouldn’t explain when they 
pressed him to throw light upon this enigma. 

“ Go up there yourselves,” he cried, “ and 
you’ll see.” 

“But, hang it all, man,” cried another, 
“ a whole brigade of doctors can’t go scaling 
the rocks just to find out what maggot’s bit- 
ten you now.” 

“The exercise would do you good, and you 
might hear of something to your advantage,” 
said the doctor, disappearing down the cor- 
ridor. 


Mary's First Day Out. 


65 


“ He’s a rum one/’ said some who stayed 
behind. “ Straight, though,” said others. 
And to this all agreed. 

“ He’s a Roman Catholic,” suggested one, 
who had hitherto held his peace. This 
seemed in some measure to explain the doc- 
tor’s peculiarities, and the subject was 
dropped. 


CHAPTER VI. 


larry moloney's cruelty. 

Meanwhile Mary’s beautiful day was 
coming to an end, and it was destined to go 
down less fair than it had arisen. Teddy 
had returned soon after the doctor left, and 
had taken up the reading again. Jim slept 
peacefully, snugly covered up in the shawl. 
Mary, leaning back in the chair, enjoyed 
even the very weariness of convalescence. The 
little group was suddenly approached by 
Teddy’s brother, Larry, who was foremost 
among the rough gang who made the rocks, 
at times, a terror. In fact, it was only their 
almost continual absence when at other 
scenes, which gave the rocks their tranquil 
appearance and secured their inhabitants 
from annoyance. 


66 


Larry Moloney's Cruelty. 


67 


“ Halloa, Ted ! ” he cried, “ what’s the 
matter with you, sittin’ jawin’ to a girl, while 
the fellows has been ’most up to High 
Bridge ? ” 

“ I’m reading,” said Teddy, curtly. 

“ Headin’ ! Oh, you’re a nob, you are! 
A howler ! ” 

“ You get away!” cried Teddy, impa- 
tiently. 

“ I won’t, neither!” cried Larry, in de- 
fiance. 

“ Look out that I don’t make you,” roared 
Teddy. “ The kid’s asleep, and, if you wake 
him up, I’ll ” 

His threat was interrupted by a well-di- 
rected pebble, which hit him almost in the 
ear, causing Teddy to start up wrathfully 
and fly in pursuit of his assailant. He mut- 
tered, as he ran, various uncomplimentary 
epithets, which would not have shocked Mary, 
accustomed as she was to the rude language 
of the shanties, but which might shock many 
readers were they set down here. The pur- 


68 


Larry Moloney's Cruelty . 


sued, however, doubled upon Teddy and was 
swiftly out of sight, descending with cat-like 
agility to the road below. Teddy, supposing 
the contest over, disdained to follow, but re- 
turned and sat down again to continue the 
reading. But this was not to be. 

Larry’s head presently appeared above 
the rocks, bestowing upon his more studious 
brother a perfect volley of uncomplimentary 
adjectives. It might not have mattered so 
much, for these boys, accustomed to a rude 
atmosphere, could give and take, had it not 
suddenly occurred to Larry to turn his genius 
for invective upon the unoffending Mary. 

“ As if I’d sit there, readin’ to a pauper ! ” 

Mary had never heard the word before, and 
it fell harmlessly upon her. A dark flush 
rose to Teddy’s face, for he had a delicacy 
and kind feeling which are often seen, to a 
marked degree, in the poor. 

“ 0 you villain ! ” Teddy muttered, shak- 
ing his fist at his brother. 

“ A pauper ! A pauper ! ” cried Larry, 


Larry Moloney's Cruelty. 


69 


delighted at the effect he had produced. 
“ Spongin’ on the McGowans ; and eatin’ the 
scraps they throw her.” 

Mary understood. All the light faded 
from her eyes, her pale cheeky grew paler, 
her lips quivered pitifully, and at last the 
tears forced themselves from her eyes and 
began to course down her cheeks. Singular 
as it may seem, the sense of her dependent 
position had never forced itself upon her 
mind. She had been there; she had been 
taken care of, in a manner, by the McGowans. 
She knew that she had no parents. But 
what did it all mean? To the credit of the 
McGowans, it must be told that never, even 
in their angry moments, had they given her 
the cruel explanation. She knew now what 
a pauper was, and that she was one. 

“ Ain’t you ashamed?” cried Teddy, try- 
ing to silence his brother. 

“ She is a pauper,” persisted Larry. “ Ma 
said so, and that she was a burden to the 
McGowans. A charity child ! ” 


70 


Larry Moloney's Cruelty. 


The worst of it was that this was true. No 
later than that morning both boys had 
heard their mother wondering “ why that 
doctor was makin’ such a fuss over a pauper,” 
and had enlarged upon the theme. Teddy, 
being in no position to deny the truth of 
his brother’s assertion, sprang to his feet and 
ran towards him to arrest the flow of his 
eloquence. 

But it was in vain, so far as Mary was con- 
cerned. Her face, wan and pinched, her eyes, 
strained and pitiful, looked towards the sky. 
Yes, there was the sun still shining, and be- 
ginning, in its descent, to merge a variety of 
tints into one whole of flaming scarlet, over 
which quivered the gray of the clouds. It 
was so beautiful, this world which God had 
made, and only a few moments ago she, Mary 

Tracy, had been so happy; and now ? 

She felt as if she could never hold up her 
head again, now that she knew that the 
people of the shanties were pointing at her 
as a pauper. It seemed to her that her heart 


Larry Moloney's Cruelty. 


71 


would break. She bent down over Jim, and 
clasped him pitifully with her uninjured arm. 
He didn’t know she was a pauper. He came 
to her just as willingly, and cared for her 
just as much, as if she had not been a charity 
child. The baby, in fact, waking up, smiled 
at her in his genial way, as if saying : 

“ What does it matter, Mary ? I shall al- 
ways be glad to see you.” 

And his fat hand stroked her face, and 
seemed puzzled when it met the tears, still 
falling unheeded down upon the ground. 
When Michael himself came out to lift her 
in, she almost shrank from his touch. 

It was charity to the pauper. He was 
struck with the strange look about her face, 
and her listless, drooping manner. When 
she was put into bed, she lay with her face 
turned towards the wall, thinking: 

“ And now I’ll mebbe be always a pauper, 
for I’m too weak to work. I can’t ever help 
with the washing nor carry Jim about.” 

The first thing which brought peace to her 


72 


Larry Moloney's Cruelty. 


mind was when she caught the sound of the 
Rosary which Mrs. McGowan was saying 
aloud with Michael. The familiar words had 
a new meaning, even to her untutored mind : 
“ Thy will be done.” That meant that peo- 
ple had to do whatever God wanted, and that 
they had to do it willingly too. “ God wants 
me to be a pauper,” she said, with awe ; “but 
mebbe not always.” Then it comforted her 
to think of her fortune hidden away in the 
recess of the rock, which had already doubled 
itself. 

“ I’ll try and add to it, if only I can get 
strong,” she said. 

But the truth was that Larry’s cruel words, 
which to him meant no more than the mis- 
chief of an idle and naturally brutal lad, had 
hurt her even more than the goat’s horns. 
They proved a setback, too, to her recovery, 
for, strive as she would, the knowledge she 
had gained seemed to take all the heart out 
of her. When the doctor came next, he no- 
ticed the change at once with his keen, pro- 


Larry Moloney's Cruelty. 


73 


fessional eye, and set about discovering the 
cause. 

Bit by bit it came out, and the doctor, ris- 
ing from the bedside with flashing eyes, told 
Mrs. McGowan, begging of her to see that the 
young rascal got the thrashing he deserved. 

“I’d like to give it to him myself,” he 
said, almost fiercely. And Mrs. McGowan 
promised to look to the matter. 

"It is not bad enough,” she complained, 
"that they ’most killed the child with their 
rascally goat, but they strive to vex her with 
their vile talk.” 

“ Not Teddy,” said a feeble voice from the 
inner room. “ Teddy’s been good to me.” 

The doctor had found the scene with Mary 
a very painful one. The wound to her nat- 
ural sensitiveness had been very deep, and he 
had caught an insight into a nature almost 
painfully intense. 

“ Tragedy even among the rocks,” he said 
to himself. 

Michael McGowan on this occasion did not 


74 


Larry Moloney’s Cruelty. 


wait to “ cool down/ 5 but strolled over to the 
Moloneys’ door. Had he met Larry upon the 
way, there is little doubt that he would there 
and then have administered summary justice 
himself. But that enterprising and far-see- 
ing youth, perceiving the approach of their 
irate neighbor, and suspecting its cause, had 
fled swiftly to an adjoining rock, whence he 
could both see and hear without being in im- 
minent danger. The Tipperary blood was 
near causing a breach between the neigh- 
bors, which might have had serious results. 
Mrs. Moloney, in particular, very much re- 
sented hearing her younger son described as 
“A good for nothing vagabone,” “ The plague 
of the rocks.” She took the field in his de- 
fence, her maxim being apparently a para- 
phrase of an epigram employed by a distin- 
guished patriot with regard to his country: 

“ My son, be he right or wrong ! ” 

For the truth was, she was kept in per- 
petual turmoil by that youth’s doings and 
sayings, in or out of the house, and by the 


Larry Moloney's Cruelty. 


75 


constant complaints of him which reached 
her ears. It was a lively war of words, which 
need not be recorded here ; but it was fortu- 
nate that Moloney the elder had that species 
of common sense which is sometimes more 
apparent in men than in women, with a rude 
sense of justice. 

He admitted that Mary was harmless, and 
that therefore she ought to be left out of the 
boys* quarrels, and that he would himself see 
and thrash Larry for the offence. Michael, 
mollified, broke into praises of Teddy, which 
did much to conciliate even the mother, 
though she still had a lingering soreness with 
regard to her prodigal. 

“ Mrs. Moloney, ma’am,” said good-na- 
tured Michael, “ if I said too much in my 
heat, don’t keep it in agin me ; for, when all’s 
said and done, boys will be boys, and mebbe 
he didn’t think that little Mary would take 
it so sore to heart.” 

“ Children in her condition shouldn’t be 
too thin-skinned,” said Mrs. Moloney, not 


76 


Larry Moloney's Cruelty. 


quite appeased. “ I’m afraid it’s many the 
hard day’s in store for her, if she begins like 
this.” 

“ I hope not, ma’am,” said Michael. 
“ From my heart, I hope not. Poor Mary’s 
that biddable and quiet like that no one could 
spake ill of her, and she saved the life of our 
only child from ” 

Michael paused. The subject of the goat 
was delicate ground which had been gone 
over before. Moloney shifted uneasily in his 
chair and coughed slightly. His wife busied 
herself with some household work, but pres- 
ently remarked dryly : 

“ I don’t think the life of either of them 
was in danger.” 

“We have the doctor’s word for it,” said 
Michael, flushing with anger, as Mrs. Mo- 
loney tossed her head, “ and Mary crippled as 
it is. I’m surprised at you, ma’am, to be so 
hard-hearted.” 

“ You’re the first that ever said it of me, 
Michael McGowan,” said the woman, which 


Larry Moloney's Cruelty. 


77 


is often a convenient arrangement where ar- 
gument is weak, “and it ill becomes you ” 

“ I know, ma’am. I know all you did for 
us in the trouble of last winter,” said Mi- 
chael, softening again, “ and that’s why I’m 
surprised, for a more tender-hearted woman 
than you showed yourself couldn’t be found 
from here to Galway.” 

“Well, well, we all have our faults,” said 
Mrs. Moloney. “And if Larry was a bit 
rough spoken with the girl, his father will 
correct him, and no more need be said, for 
he’s no worse than most of his neighbors.” 

Michael had to be satisfied with this, and 
took his leave, feeling that very little had 
been accomplished. But it is only fair to say 
that Larry met his deserts from both father 
and mother, the latter giving her opinion of 
him in no measured terms. 


CHAPTER VII. 


MRS. MORRISON". 

When the doctor said that he would put 
Mrs. Morrison upon Mary’s track, he had a 
double object in view. He was not only 
doing his very best for the little girl, but he 
was anxious to benefit this other and very dif- 
ferent patient of his. She was an elderly 
woman, a connection of his own, to whom he 
was sincerely attached. She was a widow, 
with large means. In the midst of a worldly 
career, when fashion had held full sway over 
her and she had been one of its most deter- 
mined votaries, a series of severe family af- 
flictions, beginning with the death of her 
husband, followed by that of her children, 
had suddenly and completely transformed 
her. She still occupied her mansion upon 
78 


Mrs. Morrison. 


79 


Fifth Avenue, but it was never more opened 
for those assemblies wherein money had been 
so extravagantly lavished. The balls, for 
which the flowers alone cost many thousands 
of dollars, became a thing of the past, with 
dinners, luncheons, and receptions. In fact, 
the sad-faced, stately woman had rushed to 
the 6ther extreme, and shut herself up alone 
in that great, gloomy house, “ the world for- 
getting, by the world forgot.” 

The doctor, who was one of the few friends 
still admitted, and that, at first, in his pro- 
fessional capacity, noted this sudden change, 
and the effect it had upon his kinswoman’s 
health, with concern. The period of natural 
grief being over, he saw that she was verging 
towards a morbid state of mind and a settled 
melancholy. All that was genial and lovable 
in the woman seemed to have deserted her, 
and her warm heart to have grown cold. 

It had occurred to him, as if by inspira- 
tion, that once bring Mrs. Morrison into con- 
tact with little Mary and awaken her interest 


80 


Mrs. Morrison. 


in the simple joys and sorrows of those poor 
folk upon the rocks, the victory would be 
won. He went, one afternoon, on purpose 
to broach the subject to her, but he said 
nothing until it was almost time to take his 
leave. He had considerable tact, that doc- 
tor, young as he was. 

Mrs. Morrison listened to his narrative 
somewhat listlessly, leaning back in her deep 
armchair. 

“ And so, my philanthropic doctor,” she 
said, at last, “ you want me to interest my- 
self in this rock-maiden?” 

“ Such a little one, and such a helpless 
one,” pleaded the doctor. “I want you to 
see her, and become interested as I have 
done.” 

“ But what can I do for her ? ” said Mrs. 
Morrison, languidly. “You say yourself that 
these people she lives with are fairly kind to 
her. So there is no need of taking her away, 
or anything of that sort.” 

“Ho need in the world,” said the doctor ; 


Mrs. Morrison. 


81 


“but they are very poor, and Mary is very 
helpless just now. To help her would be 
helping them.” 

“Your boy’s heart is so big,” said Mrs. 
Morrison, regarding the doctor with a cordial 
glance. He was a favorite with her, partly 
because of a real or supposed likeness to one 
of her lost darlings. 

“ I know one bigger,” said the doctor, with 
his merriest look — “ a great, great deal big- 
ger, if only it were given play. Mine is get- 
ting hardened, quite callous, so that I wonder 
how little Mary has pierced it with her big 
eyes. That other heart knows no limit.” 

“ They say that sorrow softens hearts,” 
said Mrs. Morrison. “ Mine has grown hard 
and harder all the time.” 

“Don’t ask me to believe that,” said the 
doctor, with honest, boyish admiration. 
“ And do take Mary under your wing. Think 
of the thirty cents in the rock, upon which 
such magnificent plans are built.” 

“We all build on trifles,” said Mrs. Mor- 


82 


Mrs. Morrison. 


rison, somewhat coldly ; “ but this Mary has 
found a skilful advocate, and you have in- 
terested me. In fact, I think I will see this 
child. When can you spare an hour, doctor ?” 

The doctor put on a comical look, partly 
to conceal his triumph. 

“ I have so many important cases on 
hand,” he said, “ and can scarcely get away ; 
but, fortunately, one of them happens to be 
on those very rocks, and in that very shanty.” 

“ Take luncheon with me, then, to-morrow, 
if the weather is good, and we shall drive up 
to this wonderful place.” 

The doctor only looked his gratitude, but 
it was enough. 

“ He must have more patients, that dear 
boy-doctor,” said Mrs. Morrison, when he 
had gone, turning the rings on her finger 
meditatively. "With his kind heart, his 
honest eyes, his gentle manner, he ought to 
get up to the very top of his profession. I 
must see about it.” 

She leaned back in her chair in a thought- 


Mrs. Morrison. 


83 


ful attitude, smiling a little as she said to 
herself : 

“ This girl may be very ordinary, indeed, 
and perhaps these people are all impostors, 
trying to work upon the doctor’s good-nature. 
But I will go once, at any rate, if it be only 
to find them out.” 

She had a basket of knitting beside her. 
She was preparing stockings and socks to be 
distributed to the poor by her servant about 
Christmas time. 

“ I wonder if this girl can knit,” she con- 
tinued. “ I could employ her at some of 
these. To earn for herself will please her 
best, if she be what the doctor believes ; and, 
in any case, it will be the safest way of help- 
ing her. Then I might get her to make rag 
carpet. Yes, that would be excellent, and she 
would enjoy the bright colors, while that baby 
could be near her. There is always a baby, 
bless its heart, in the annals of the poor.” 

She laughed softly. 

“ It is, I suppose, the only sunshine in the 


84 


Mrs. Morrison. 


darkness, from the very fact that it is the 
only being who is quite unconscious of all 
the misery and privation.” 

So here was the doctor’s prescription work- 
ing already, and Mrs. Morrison beginning to 
be as interested in the carrying out of these 
charitable schemes as she had ever been in 
the details of a social function. She arose 
and walked over to the bow window, standing 
there among the tall palms, and watching the 
carriages whirling by or the carts rumbling 
on, all impartially attended by a thick cloud 
of dust. 

She thought suddenly of some babies who 
had once been there in the luxury of that 
mansion. How each one had grown, till its 
little feet toddled over the marble of the halls 
and stumbled in the pile of the carpet. How 
each had outgrown that stage, and had 
bounded up and down in schoolboy glee. How 
some had paused there and never grown any 
more, and passed silently out. While one 
among them all had grown tall, as tall as 


Mrs. Morrison. 


85 


the doctor, and had merry eyes and a pleasant 
voice like his. He had not waited either for 
the further stages of the journey over which 
she was hastening alone. A great sorrow, a 
great yearning, quite unlike the cold melan- 
choly of the past months, came into her heart. 

“Yes, for the sake of those baby ones,” 
she said, “ I will befriend that baby, and for 
the sake of the others it shall be Mary; and 
the doctor himself shall be my special care, 
because of him who was last to go. Their 
memory shall be a benediction to Mary.” 

Little Mary, of course, did not know all 
that was passing in that grand house down on 
Fifth Avenue, nor in the mind of that great 
lady, who henceforth had the will, as she had 
the power, to help her. Assuredly, Mary’s 
prospects were brightening, and that little 
bank in the rocks was, indeed, the founda- 
tion of her fortune. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


TEDDY GETS THE TREASURE. 

Mary had managed to crawl as far as her 
treasure-house, one morning, and had actu- 
ally felt and gloated over that mysterious 
quarter which had been added to her original 
store, and which she very well knew had been 
placed there by the kindly doctor. Several 
days had intervened since she was last out. 

The dart aimed at her by Larry had gone 
so deep that it had seriously impaired her 
physical condition. She had been forced to 
lie in bed, more weak and helpless than be- 
fore. Even Jim had not been placed near 
her, as Mrs. McGowan feared that Mary was 
not strong enough to look after him. 

Those days had been gray and drizzling, 
varied by storms, during which hail and rain 
86 


Teddy gets the Treasure. 


87 


beat pitilessly against the windows, and the 
wind threatened to dislodge the shanty alto- 
gether from its position upon the rocks. The 
window-panes had been so obscured by the 
pitiless downpour that for hours together 
Mary could not see out. She had some queer 
fancies, too, during those hours of darkness. 
She thought that the rain upon the roof and 
the wind in its howling seemed to repeat, oveu 
and over: 

“ Pauper ! Pauper ! ” 

And even when the wind softened to a 
moan and went sweeping over the rocks, it 
sounded as if it were pitying her forlorn con- 
dition. Sometimes the silence was so awful, 
for Mrs. McGowan had gone out to work by 
the day, that Mary wished that Jim would 
wake up, even if he screamed. But he did 
not. Mrs. McGowan had been home at noon 
to see to him and Mary, and one of the 
neighbor women had come in later with a 
shawl over her head to give him some milk 
and otherwise insure his comfort, so Jim 


88 


Teddy gets the Treasure. 


slept peacefully, and cared nothing for the 
wind and rain. 

“ If it were only one day,” Mary had said 
over and over again to herself. 

But the bad weather had entered upon a 
term, it seemed, and, like Jim in his “ crying 
spells,” was not to be restored to sunshine. 

When at last fine weather did come, and 
Mary got out to visit, as has been described, 
her treasury, she was almost in good spirits. 
What a blessed relief it was to see a blue sky, 
and how glorious the rocks seemed after her 
room ! As she sat and reflected, Teddy Mo- 
loney approached her. He had been rather 
shy of her since Larry’s misbehavior, and, 
besides, she had been much indoors. 

“ Mary,” he said, without any preamble, 
“ I got somethin’ to tell you.’’ 

“ What is’t, Teddy ? ” Mary asked, smiling 
at the boy, to show that to him, at least, she 
bore no ill-will. 

“ I don’t know if it signifies anything, but 
Larry he’s been a watchin’ you this mornin’ ” 


Teddy gets the Treasure. 


89 


Mary turned pale. 

“ I heard him mutterin’ to himself that 
he’d just like to know what you were mousin’ 
about them rocks for, and he’s bound to find 
out.” 

Mary burst into tears. 

If Larry had his eyes on her treasure, it 
was as good as lost, and she felt utterly un- 
equal to making the same effort she had made 
that morning. And kind as Teddy was, she 
did not know whether it was wise to place so 
great a strain upon his kindness and honesty 
as to tell him her secret. Teddy watched her 
as she wailed, rocking her body to and fro in 
her anguish. At last he said, slowly : 

“ I guess it’s better to tell you right out, 
Mary. But I know what’s troublin’ you.” 

“ You know? ” cried Mary, suspending her 
tears in astonishment. 

“I know you got somethin’ hid in the 
rock.” 

Mary drew a deep breath, half of relief, 
half of fear. 


90 


Teddy gets the Treasure. 


“ And I guess your folks don’t know noth- 
in’ about it.” 

He paused, and Mary did not contradict 
this last assertion. 

“And I know more’n that, too,” he con- 
tinued, slowly, as if to watch the effect of his 
words upon his hearer. “ You got fifty cents 
or more hid away there.” 

If Mary had been guilty of theft, and 
Teddy her judge, she could not have looked 
more confused, nor the boy more solemn. 

“ How you got it ain’t none of my busi- 
ness,” said Teddy. 

Mary flushed crimson. 

“But I guess it’s all right,” Teddy went 
on, reassuringly, “ because you’re a different 
make from some of the kids round here, and 
honest as — as Jim.” 

“ It’s real good of you to say that, Teddy,” 
said Mary, gratefully, “ and it’s true as the 
Catechism, I never stole in my life, cause it’s 
a sin ; and anyway ” 

She did not finish her sentence. Again 


Teddy gets the Treasure. 


91 


that thought appalled her : “ If Larry should 
get it!” 

She had some delicacy, however, in sug- 
gesting to Teddy that his brother might be 
less honest than himself ; but Teddy went on, 
quite calmly : 

“ Larry’ll get it if he can, and snicker if 
you make a fuss about it. He’ll say it was 
no more yourn than his.” 

Another thought struck Mary, and she 
asked, though not suspiciously, for she now 
felt sure of him: 

“How did you get to know it was there, 
Teddy?” 

“ I found it out, one day, just pokin’ 
around. I thought, first off, I’d struck ile 
myself ; but I minded seein’ you about there 
a good deal, and the doctor, too. So I 
guessed it was yourn.” 

“I thought no one saw me,” said poor 
Mary, in dismay. 

“ Oh ! there ain’t much done upon these 
rocks that I don’t see,” said Teddy, with 


92 


Teddy gets the Treasure. 


pride. “But now we’ve got to keep Larry 
from gettin’ his claw on it.” 

“ And I can’t go there again to-day,” la- 
mented Mary. “I can’t, I can’t. If only 
the doctor would come ! ” 

“So he knows, does he? I thought as 
much,” said Teddy, with an odd feeling of 
annoyance that a stranger should be trusted 
before him. “Well, if you waits for the 
doctor, I guess Larry’ll have had a first-rate 
time with the cash.” 

“ Oh ! what can I do ? ” cried Mary. 

“ I can get it, if you say so, and bring it 
right here,” said Teddy. 

Mary’s face brightened with that smile of 
hers which seemed to light up the depths of 
her eyes. 

“If you do that, Teddy,” she said, “I 
guess I’ll feel like doin’ anything for you in 
return.” 

So Teddy went to the hole in the rocks, 
which gave up the treasure at once. He re- 
joiced in the thought of the disappointment 


Teddy gets the Treasure. 


93 


which awaited his evil-disposed brother, with 
a joy that was scarcely Christian, as he put 
the money into Mary’s hand. He did so with 
due solemnity, feeling a little awe of her good 
luck in having “ such a pile.” 

Mary, who had been making up her mind 
as to the best course to pursue under the cir- 
cumstances, received the money with joy. 
She drew the five-cent piece from underneath 
its weightier companions, and offered it to 
Teddy. It was a sacrifice, but Teddy had 
been so good to her. To Teddy, in his turn, 
it was an immense temptation, such as had 
scarcely ever assailed him before, and which 
not another boy upon the rocks would have 
resisted. But Teddy had his ideas, and one 
of them was that it would be mean to take 
advantage of a girl in this manner. So he 
put back the coin, with a flush upon his face, 
and a gesture that was final. Mary felt al- 
most ashamed of having offered it. 

“ ’Taint much for all you’ve done,” she 
said, shamefacedly. 


94 


Teddy gets the Treasure. 


" I don’t want none of your money/’ he 
said, almost roughly. He was afraid she 
might think that was why he had warned her 
of the danger. There was a pause, rather 
an awkward one, for neither knew exactly 
what to say. Teddy spoke first : 

" Larry, he’ll be dancin’ a war dance, when 
he finds the pile gone,” he said, with glee. 

" But how’ll he know ’twas there ? ” asked 
Mary. 

"I’ll tell him,” said Teddy, vengefully. 
"And won’t it make him sick when he 
thinks how he’d a done New York with that 
money.” 

Mary said nothing. The mention of 
Larry’s name was painful to her on account 
of the injury he had actually done her, as 
well as of this second one which he had 
planned. But she was wondering why it was 
that he was so different from his brother. 
Teddy seemed to guess at her thoughts. 

"Larry wouldn’t take no schoolin’,” he 
said, apologetically, "an’ ma, she can’t do 


Teddy gets the Treasure. 


95 


nothin’ with him. Pa’s the only one he’s 
afraid of, and pa’s most always away.” 

“ PVaps he’ll get better some time,” said 
Mary, encouragingly. 

Teddy shook his head. He could not im- 
agine Larry any other than he was. 

“ Mebbe he will,” he said, briefly 


CHAPTER IX. 


MRS. MORRISON VISITS THE ROCKS. 

While the children were still talking, they 
were startled by an apparition. A splendid 
carriage, with coachman and footman, had 
just driven up to the foot of the path leading 
upward to the rocks. The carriage was a very 
grand one in the children’s eyes, accustomed, 
though they were, to such equipages. For 
it was one of the joys of their rocky domain 
to watch the carriages coming and going in 
and out of the Pa^k, or to and fro from the 
Boulevard, and to note the costumes of those 
who drove in them. 

“ Great Scott ! ” cried Teddy. “ There’s 
a lady, a real bigbug in it, an’ a gent, and 
they’re a cornin’ up here.” 

Mary stood upright in her effort to see, 
96 


3fr$. Morrison Visits the RocTcs. 


97 


though she was obliged to put her hand to her 
side and clutch at the adjacent rock for 
support. 

“ If s the doctor ! ” said Mary, in a breath- 
less whisper. 

“ Who’s t’other ? ” asked Teddy. 

"I dunno,” said Mary, briefly, as she 
watched, with fluttering heart, the strangers 
beginning to ascend the rocky steep. For it 
was, indeed, the doctor and Mrs. Morrison, 
who having been compelled to defer their 
visit to the rocks during all the days of 
storm, had seized the opportunity offered by 
this first fine weather. They laughed once 
or twice as the doctor had to assist his com- 
panion up the slope, but they advanced di- 
rectly, nevertheless, towards where the chil- 
dren stood. 

“ Gosh!” cried Teddy. “ I’m off.” And 
away he flew like a deer over the rocks in the 
direction of the Moloney homestead. 

“ Who’s that running away from the doc- 
tor and myself ? ” said a softly modulated 


98 


Mrs. Morrison Visits the Rocks. 


voice. And that was Mary’s first introduc- 
tion to Mrs. Morrison. 

Mary was too much overcome by shyness 
to answer the question, so the doctor replied 
for her: 

“ I suspect it’s Teddy Moloney. Isn’t that 
right, Mary ? ” 

Mary answered, “ Yes.” 

And Mrs. Morrison went on: 

“ Oh ! I’m so sorry. He’s one of the very 
people I wanted to see up here. But that 
will come later. Where can I sit down, 
doctor ? ” 

Mary glanced towards the house, and the 
doctor, understanding, said: 

“Wait one moment and I’ll get you a 
chair.” 

“Ho such thing!” said Mrs. Morrison. 
“ I want to sit upon the rocks, and see if I 
can look as picturesque as Mary does, with 
that crimson scarf about her ! ” 

Mary did not know what “picturesque” 
meant, but she understood the pleasant smile 


Mrs. Morrison Visits the Rocks. 


99 


and the kindly look upon the visitor’s face, 
and she responded with a smile which won 
her another heart. 

“ The doctor is right,” she said to herself. 
“ Her eyes and smile are singularly attrac- 
tive. I wish I were an artist.” 

But aloud she said: 

“ So you are Mary Tracy, of whom I have 
heard so much. And is that your cottage 
yonder?” She did not say shanty, as Mary 
was quick to observe. Mary nodded assent. 

“ And that, I suppose, is the Moloneys’ ; 
and that very formidable animal engaged 
with an imaginary foe is the renowned 
Billy.’ ” 

Mary stared. How could this great lady 
know all about the rocks, and the people 
there and the goat? She felt less at ease 
with her than with the doctor. Her laugh 
was, perhaps, a little artificial, and her man- 
ner easy, gracious, but less simple and direct 
than his. Mary could not have explained 
that, but she felt it. 


100 Mrs. Morrison Visits the Rocks. 


“ Well, well ! ” continued Mrs. Morrison, 
pleasantly, “ Fm glad to have seen them all. 
And now, Mary Tracy, how old are you ? ” 

Mary answered that she was thirteen. 

“ Only thirteen, and yet, as I hear, you 
have started to make a fortune.” 

Mary’s pale face colored a little as she 
glanced at the doctor. 

“ You see, I have been telling, Mary,” 
laughed the doctor. “ And by the way, how 
is that great treasure getting on all these 
stormy days since I was here last? Shall I 
go and see ? ” 

Mary opened her hand, and showed the 
treasure concealed there. 

“ Hello ! What does this mean ? ” cried 
the doctor. “ Is it possible you can have 
been climbing?” 

“ Teddy got it for me,” she said. 

“ Oh ! I see. A run on the bank, which is 
no longer safe, and a trusted agent. I 
thought I was the only one.” 

“ Teddy said that Larry had found out and 


Mrs. Morrison Visits the Rocks. 101 


wanted to get the money,” said Mary, for- 
getting her shyness in the absorbing interest 
of the theme. 

“Who is Larry?” asked Mrs. Morrison’s 
clear voice. 

“ Oh, he’s a daisy ! ” said the doctor. 
“ He’s the youngest Moloney, and in a fair 
way of reaching a great height.” 

“A great height?” repeated Mrs. Mor- 
rison, puzzled. 

“ The gallows ! ” said the doctor, grimly. 
“ And, indeed, after this last escapade, I’m 
not sure that it isn’t my duty to help him 
there by handing him over to the police.” 

Mary’s face flushed and paled, as she cried 
out, awe-stricken : 

“ Oh, doctor ! don’t. He didn’t take the 
money : and even if he had ” 

The police had always been one of the chief 
terrors of Mary’s life. Occasionally she had 
seen one of those guardians of the law ap- 
pearing upon the rocks when Larry’s gang 
were particularly uproarious, or when one of 


102 Mrs. Morrison Visits the Rocks. 


the men in the shanties had been celebrating 
some particular festival. But these experi- 
ences had been particularly trying to the 
little girl, and she recalled them now with 
horror. 

“Well, I won’t, then,” said the doctor, 
watching Mary’s face. “I’ll let him make 
his own way to the hangman. But we shall 
have to find a safe place for your money.” 

“ Why not put it in the savings bank ? ” 
said Mrs. Morrison. “ Then you can add to 
it, penny by penny, fivepence by fivepence, 
all by your own industry.” 

This was an alluring prospect, though 
Mary was thinking that she did not very 
often get money. Still, with the good start 
she had, she might be able from time to time 
to earn a little. 

“ Now that you are not able for very hard 
work, the doctor tells me,” went on the lady, 
“ let us see what else you can do. Can you 
knit?” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” Mary answered. She had 


Mrs. Morrison Visits the Rocks. 


103 


been taught that useful art just as soon as 
her fingers could hold the yarn. 

“ Good. Then I shall send you some knit- 
ting. If you succeed, I will keep you sup- 
plied with that kind of work, and pay you 
what I think fair.” 

To Mary all this seemed like a page from 
a fairy tale in Teddy’s book. She earning 
money, and having it in a real bank ! Then 
she would no longer be a pauper. She would 
earn for herself, and in time contribute to 
the support of the house. Her lips quiv- 
ered, her eyes filled with the tears that she 
could not keep back, and they rolled down 
her cheeks, almost as upon that other day 
when she had received the wound now being 
healed by Mrs. Morrison’s kindly tact. 

“ Of course,” added the lady, “ you cannot 
earn very much at first. Later you might do 
sewing, if you can sew, or make rag carpet, 
as the women in Canada do ; that will be more 
profitable. Do you know how to make rag 
carpet ? No ! Well, I’ll show you some day.” 


104 Mrs. Morrison Visits the Rocks. 


Mary explained that she could not sew as 
well as she could knit ; but Mrs. Morrison de- 
clared that she would have her taught, also 
that she meant to ask Mrs. McGowan to let 
her go to the Sisters* school for a portion of 
each day. 

Mrs. McGowan, who in the meantime had 
been making her toilet, now appeared, and 
readily entered into Mrs. Morrison’s plans, 
saying that she would be pleased at and 
grateful for anything that was done for 
Mary. She was really fond of the little girl, 
especially since the affair of the goat, and she 
consented at once to let her go to school, only 
bargaining for a short delay. 

“When the baby’s on his feet,” she said, 
“ I can let her go the whole day, ma’am ; and 
it’s glad Michael and I will be if she gets 
some schoolin’.” 

Mrs. Morrison then asked if there was any 
objection to Mary’s coming for a drive. 
“And she may bring Jim with her, if she 
likes.” 


Mrs. Morrison Visits the Rocks. 105 


Mrs. McGowan protested he wasn’t dressed 

41 

fit to go in a grand carriage like that. But 
the lady assured her that the drive would be 
principally along a quiet road, and that he 
could go as he was. 

“ Mary will give him a bit of her scarf/’ 
she said. 

The doctor, who had patients to see, de- 
clared that, before taking leave of them, he 
would put Mary safely in the carriage. He 
stood a moment in conversation with Mrs. 
Morrison, saying to her in a low tone : 

“ Who is like you ? ” 

“ It is you ,” she responded, “ who has in- 
troduced me to this new world, and a very 
wonderful one it is. I have not done ex- 
ploring it yet.” 

She said a few kindly words to Teddy Mo- 
loney, who had drawn near, promising to 
make his acquaintance later. As the de- 
lighted Mary drove off, with Jim chuckling 
and crowing in her arms, every one of the 
rock-dwellers who was in the vicinity came 


106 Mrs. Morrison Visits the Rocks. 

out to see the departure. There were en- 
vious tongues to say bitter things, and to mar- 
vel at “ some people’s luck ; ” and there were 
kindly ones to wish them God-speed, and to 
be glad that “ Mary Tracy, the creature, 
was havin’ a holiday for onst.” 

The drive was a wonderful thing for Mary, 
up through the great wide Boulevard, and 
through country roads, where grass and trees, 
if somewhat faded as to their verdure, still 
seemed beautiful to the child, who loved the 
things of nature with intuitive fondness. 

Jim was in high good-humor, and pawed 
Mary’s face energetically to show his appro- 
bation. After a long, solemn stare at Mrs. 
Morrison, he put out a chubby hand and 
stroked her cheek. And Mrs. Morrison sud- 
denly and vividly remembered days when her 
first-born had sat upon the nurse’s knee, op- 
posite to her in the self-same carriage. The 
remembrance was almost overpowering for an 
instant, but it augmented the kindly feeling 
she had begun to entertain for Mary Tracy 


Mrs. Morrison Visits the Rocks. 107 


and her helpless little charge. She took Jim 
from Mary, and held him herself for a little 
while, and the past seemed to come back 
upon her with a bitter sweetness she had sel- 
dom known. 

From that hour Mary and Jim had secured 
a fast friend, and Mary Tracy’s fortune had 
made another stride. 


CHAPTER X. 


LARRY AND THE PEDDLER. 

Mary’s new occupation of knitting was 
a great resource to her. It was pleasant to 
sit in her favorite place upon the rocks, with 
Jim, as usual, on the shawl, and to sort the 
many-colored wools which came in a great 
parcel from Mrs. Morrison’s. Her heart was 
always full of sunshine now, and she heeded 
not at all Larry’s performances. 

That mischievous youth, when informed of 
what he had missed by Teddy, who took care 
to tell him of the treasure which had lain so 
long under his very hands, was filled with 
rage. It therefore became his custom to 
annoy Mary by every means in his power. 
All that he could do covertly he did, for he 
had no mind to bring down the heavy hand 
108 


Larry and the Peddler. 


109 


of his father, nor the no less forcible tongue 
of his mother, upon him by any overt act. 
But he danced in and out amongst the rocks, 
circling that on which Mary sat ; now yelling 
to wake Jim if he slept, now calling out op- 
probrious epithets, now throwing mud or peb- 
bles at the little girl. Once when he had 
struck Mary a blow upon the cheek with a 
piece of mud, he was suddenly assailed from 
behind. A hand grasped him by the collar, 
and the earth began to reel beneath his feet, 
in the increasing violence of the shaking he 
received. 

“ One leetle girl you strike ! ” said a voice. 
“Mud you throw into the face of a child. 
A young imp are you, and a leg of Satan! 
Yes, I say you are one leg of Satan.” 

This last opprobrious epithet had been 
lately and somewhat imperfectly learned by 
the peddler. It seemed to him to convey 
some mysterious and awful reproach, and 
he liked it. The manner of his speech very 
nearly upset Mary’s gravity, however, and 


110 


Larry and the Peddler. 


to prevent herself from laughing outright 
she had to bend her face over Jim. 

Larry, though, was in no laughing humor. 
The shaking he had already received and the 
threats of more which he read in the peddler’s 
eyes, effectually checked all idea of merri- 
ment. 

“ You let me go ! ” he cried, sulkily. 

“Yes, let you go I shall presently. And 
if it were over the rock, and you shall be 
broken into morsels, it is what you shall have 
merited.” 

Larry, rather confused by the intricacies 
of the foreigner’s verbs, began to howl, fear- 
ing that this awful threat might be carried 
out. 

“ Eh ! you will scream so !” said the man. 
“ You like the musics.” 

And he began viciously to dance Larry up 
and down, in and out, always increasing the 
distance between him and Mary, and proceed- 
ing in the direction of the offender’s house, 
Larry kicking and struggling, and holding 


Larry and the Peddler. 


Ill 


back to the best of his power. The peddler 
finally deposited him at the door of the Mo- 
loney homestead, with a parting shake and a 
final epithet or two. 

Larry only waited till the peddler had gone 
a convenient distance, to begin a series of in- 
vectives on his own account, varied by 
strange howls and hoots. But the man, sat- 
isfied with the vengeance he had wrought, 
went, unheeding, to where Mary sat, pausing 
an instant beside her. He was well known 
up on the rocks, where he was a frequent 
visitor, carrying his stores from shanty to 
shanty, and supplying the good wives with 
pins, needles, and other small wares. He 
had displayed these to Mary’s delight, and 
had been pleased in turn by her outspoken ad- 
miration. He had gone so far once, about 
holiday time, as to give the child a penny 
ring, which she still wore upon her finger. 
As he stood beside Mary, rubbing his nose 
reflectively with his hand, he said: 

“ You knits much?” 


112 


Larry and the Peddler. 


“Yes,” said Mary. “I knits for a lady, 
and she pays me.” 

She couldn’t conceal the pride which 
swelled her heart as she made this announce- 
ment. 

“ Goot, very goot ! ” said the peddler, add- 
ing slowly, “ if some socks there be which you 
will not sell, mebbe I could make sale of them 
for you.” 

Here was a new offer. 

“ Or I shall wool bring, you will knit, and 
the profit will divide itself with you and me, 
is it so ? ” 

Mary declared that she would be glad, in- 
deed, in her leisure moments, when not em- 
ployed in knitting for Mrs. Morrison, to do 
gome work for him. So with a friendly 
“ good day ! ” the peddler put his pack on his 
back, stooping under its load, and, whistling 
cheerily, passed presently out of sight. 


CHAPTER XI. 



THE BANK-BOOKS. 

It was upon the very evening of that day 
that Mary received a little note from Mrs. 
Morrison, with a small packet. The note 
contained Mary's first earnings. The sum 
was only a few shillings, and she had done 
a great deal of work, but she stood at the 
shanty window, gazing at it as it lay in the 
palm of her hand. Her thoughts were liter- 
ally too deep for words. They came rushing 
upon her like a mountain torrent. 

She would get Jim a new pinny ; she would 
buy Mrs. McGowan a Sunday bonnet, long 
talked of as hopeless of attainment ; and Mi- 
chael some tobacco, and Teddy a book. Out- 
side of the narrow window the clothes were 
flapping drearily in the November wind, and 
a grayness preparatory to the final darkness 
113 


114 


The Bank-books. 


had settled upon the rocks. But Mary saw 
nothing sordid in her surroundings, and her 
dreams just at that moment were golden ones. 

Mrs. McGowan, putting a shawl over her 
head, had gone forth to call in Teddy’s as- 
sistance in deciphering Mrs. Morrison's note, 
preparatory to opening the accompanying 
packet. Being thus solemnly summoned to 
the conclave, Teddy entered and seated him- 
self upon the somewhat rickety stool near the 
fire, with the air of a judge about to give 
judgment in an important case. 

Mrs. McGowan peered over his shoulder at 
the mystical letters, which were a sealed book 
to her, while Mary stood by, resting her back 
against the kitchen table, her eyes fairly de- 
vouring the paper which Teddy held. The 
boy began to read slowly, stopping occasion- 
ally to spell a word, and presently he let his 
hearers know that Mrs. Morrison advised 
Mary, after giving a certain proportion of 
her earnings to Mrs. McGowan, to deposit 
the remainder in bank. 


The Bank-hooks. 


115 


This was something of a blow to Mary, and 
dispelled her dreams of a moment before. 
She would like to have spent this first earn- 
ings as she pleased, but Mrs. Morrison’s ad- 
vice was not to be disregarded. There was 
great consolation, however, in the opening of 
the packet, which proved to be a bank-book, 
in which appeared the sum of one dollar, 
credited to Mary Tracy. Teddy read this in 
a sing-song and somewhat oracular manner, 
adding the rules of the bank, the rate of in- 
terest, and, in fact, everything readable which 
the book contained. It would have made the 
smart young bank men stare to hear the in- 
terpretation given by Teddy to some of the 
figures as well as to the rules. 

But Mary’s eyes, dilated with wonder, 
grew dim with tears, as they gazed and gazed 
upon that wonderful thing which Teddy 
held. 

“ So that’s a bank-book,” Mrs. McGowan 
said, slowly. And she added, with an uncon- 
scious pathos, “ Michael and I, when we were 


116 


The Bank-books. 


first married, used to be schemin’ to have one, 
but we never did.” 

She sighed deeply, saying almost imme- 
diately : 

“ God’s will be done, anyhow, and I’m glad 
and proud you’ve got it, Mary.” 

Into that November grayness stole some- 
thing of curious intensity, the shadow of 
that long disappointment, the realization of 
a hope, and those three gathered about the 
fire felt something of it. 

“ It’s a pile,” said Teddy, at last, breath- 
lessly, arising from his stool. 

“ It’s a great thing for Mary,” said Mrs. 
McGowan, slowly, with still the shadow upon 
her of what she and Michael had never been 
able to realize. 

As Teddy stood up, something else rustled 
to the floor. Stooping to pick it up, it 
proved to be a second bank-book, also giving 
credit for the sum of one dollar, but this 
time to Jim. It contained likewise a slip of 
paper, by which Mrs. Morrison bound herself 


The Bank-books . 


117 


to bank this sum yearly for Jim, until he was 
able to earn for himself. Mrs. McGowan 
stood still. Teddy cut a caper as his contri- 
bution to the general joy. But he was ar- 
rested in the act by Mrs. McGowan bursting 
into tears, in which Mary showed a tendency 
to join. This was out of his experience, and 
he looked at them both curiously. 

The strain of the situation was growing 
intense, when the door opened, and Mrs. Mo- 
loney walked in. The great news was com- 
municated to her, when in her excitement she 
sat down upon the rickety stool. This un- 
trustworthy resting-place instantly gave way, 
with the result that Mrs. Moloney landed in 
rather undignified fashion upon the floor, 
whence presently began to issue groans and 
exclamations of : 

“Fm kilt entirely! I’m afeard there’s a 
bone broken.” 

Teddy clapped his hand to his mouth to 
conceal his somewhat unfilial laughter, which 
burst out in gulps as he tried to restrain it. 


118 


The Bank-hooks. 


“Fm afeard to stir,” Mrs. Moloney re- 
peated again. “ There’s a bone broke, Fm 
sure.” 

“No, ma’am, no,” Mrs. McGowan said, 
soothingly, as she encouraged her visitor to 
rise. But Mrs. Moloney seemed to have a 
preference for a recumbent position. 

“Quit laughin’, you vagabone,” she said, 
catching sight of Ted’s convulsed face, with 
his hand clasped over his mouth to keep in 
those outbursts of mirth, which nearly 
choked him at this address from his pros- 
trate mother. Mary, who had been looking 
on with solemn eyes, was afraid to look at 
Teddy, lest she should commit the unpar- 
donable sin of joining in his mirth. 

“Get up, now, ma’am dear,” said Mrs. 
McGowan, who began to be a little anxious 
at her visitor’s delay in rising. 

“ Bad cess to it for a stool,” said Mrs. Mo- 
loney, turning her wrath upon the instrument 
of her fall, as she reluctantly consented to 
make a move, with many a groan. 


The Bank-books. 


119 


"Pm surprised that you’d have the likes 
of it in your house, and me so near the fire 
that the hair on my head was all but singed. 
I might have had the face burned off of me. 
And that villain laughin’ ! ” 

She broke off as she again caught sight of 
Teddy’s face, nearly purple in his valiant 
efforts at self-control. a Get out of my sight 
this instant ! ” Teddy thought it prudent 
to obey, and went out to finish his laugh out- 
side, where the desire for it presently left 
him, and he regretted his enforced banish- 
ment from the comfort of the fire and the 
absorbing interest of the topic under discus- 
sion. 

Mrs. Moloney was meanwhile led to a more 
secure seat, her bones being found in a per- 
fectly solid condition, and was further mol- 
lified by the offer of a cup of tea, rather a 
luxury in those parts. 

“ It’ll do you good after the shock you 
had,” said good-natured Mrs. McGowan. 

“ It will, indeed,” assented Mrs. Moloney. 


120 


The Bank-books. 


After which she contented herself with an 
allusion now and again to the narrow escape 
she had, and consented to give her attention 
to the great news of the children’s fortune. 

“ Some folks is horn with a silver spoon in 
their mouth,” she said, solemnly, “ and it’s 
my belief Mary’s one of them. Not that I 
grudge it to you,” she said, and addressing 
the heiress of all this wealth. “ There’s not 
a livin’ soul upon the rocks that can say any- 
thing against you.” 

Mary might have made the exception of 
the lady’s younger son, but it did not occur 
to her. She was simply mute, stunned, as 
it were, by her good fortune, which was en- 
hanced by that of Jim. 

When Mrs. Moloney had at last gone, she 
went softly up to Mrs. McGowan, and put 
the half of what she had received into her 
hands. 

“ If ever you need the rest,” she said, “ it’ll 
be there, where the lady puts it ; and you can 
spend it, if you like.” 


The Bank-books. 


121 


Impulsive little Mary was forever making 
these great sacrifices. Happy for her that 
she met with none but disinterested people. 

“ ril not touch a penny of your first earn- 
ings,” said Mrs. McGowan. " When you’ve 
earned more, we’ll see about it.” 

“ Oh ! please, please take it,” said Mary, 
piteously. And perhaps Mrs. McGowan, 
with the delicacy of her race, saw what was in 
the child’s mind, and took the money. 

"I’m sure it’ll help us well,” she said, 
tremulously. "And here’s Jim beginning 
with a bank-book, that his father and me were 
always planning out to have. The ways of 
God is wonderful ! ” 

Jim gave a shriek from the darkness; for 
the room had grown entirely dark, lights 
being lit as late as possible for the sake of 
economy. Unconscious of his sudden ele- 
vation to the possession of a bank-book, he 
was merely notifying all who were concerned 
that his slumbers could not last forever. 
Mary went over to him, while Mrs. McGowan 


122 


The Bank-hooks. 


hastened to light the lamp, which served as 
a beacon for Michael presently coming up the 
path. There was great news for him that 
evening, and Michael heard it with wonder, 
as he sat down to his supper of boiled beef. 

“ It’s all a reward for the good act you 
done in taking Mary in,” declared his wife. 

“Mebbe so,” said Michael, “ though she’s 
been a help to us every way.” 

“ She has,” said Mrs. McGowan, adding 
after a while, as she went and stood beside 
her husband’s chair, “ Think of Jim with a 
bank-book ! ” 

Husband and wife looked into each other’s 
faces. 

“ We never could manage it,” said Michael, 
with a sigh; “ but I’m heart glad Jim has it, 
and Mary, too.” 

Mary, who had stolen away and sat near 
Jim’s crib, whispered to him : 

“ Ain’t it wonderful? I got money, and 
you got money! Jim, we’re rich! Do you 
hear ? ” 


The Bank-books. 


123 


If he did hear, he seemed indifferent to the 
fact, and puckered his brows in an effort to 
see how Mary’s chin was constructed. 

“ If you could only walk,” she said, “ we’d 
go to the school together.” 

Jim beat the air with his fists, as though 
protesting against fate, which kept him help- 
less, and presently took to the bottle as an 
escape from his miseries. And so that won- 
derful day ended at last in night. 


CHAPTER XII. 

MRS. MORRISON’S GREAT PLAN. 

The doctor was spending the evening with 
Mrs. Morrison just after she had despatched 
the little parcel, which had made so great a 
sensation in the McGowan shanty. Of 
course, the conversation turned upon this 
great event. 

“ So you have made the baby a capitalist, 
too,” said the doctor. “ Great must have 
been the rejoicing. I can see Mary’s face 
when she found herself credited with a whole 
dollar.” 

They both laughed, and then Mrs. Mor- 
rison said: 

“ It will soon be Christmas, and I want to 
make that a great day upon the rocks.” 

The doctor caught at this idea enthusiasti- 
cally. 


124 


Mrs. Morrison's Great Plan. 


125 


“ It would be glorious ! ” he said. 

And his thoughts were not altogether of 
the rock-people. He was thinking of it in 
the light of a prescription for this wealthy 
patient of his. 

"If the elder McGowans consent,” went 
on Mrs. Morrison — “ and, as they seem good- 
natured people, I fancy they will — we can 
have a Christmas-tree at their dwelling, and 
let all the neighboring children be present at 
it.” 

“ Even Larry ? ” asked the doctor, with a 
wry face. 

“Even Larry,” said Mrs. Morrison. “That 
is an important feature in the scheme. I 
want to see Mary handing Larry something 
from the Christmas-tree.” 

“ You are right, as usual,” said the doc- 
tor. “ My idea would have been to let him 
wander in exterior darkness.” 

“There must be no darkness upon the 
rocks that day, if I can help it,” said Mrs. 
Morrison — “among the little folk, at least. 


126 


Mrs. Morrison’s Great Plan. 


Not Mary and Jim alone, bnt for their sakes, 
all their neighbors shall rejoice. 

“ I shall send a turkey to each of the 
dwellings, and for the McGowan family I 
shall add a plum-pudding.” 

“ Dear Lady Bountiful, you will introduce 
dyspepsia among them,” said the doctor, 
laughing. 

“ All the cases shall be yours,” cried Mrs. 
Morrison, “ and the costs mine.” 

The doctor’s professional eye was noting 
the symptoms of improvement so evident in 
his patient. The listlessness was disappear- 
ing from her manner, as the sadness from her 
face in the light of this new interest. 

“ Well, if you are determined to be Queen 
of Rockdom and appoint me Physician Ex- 
traordinary,” said the doctor, “of course, I 
have nothing to say.” 

“ But you will have a great deal to do in 
carrying out this great scheme.” 

“ You may count on me, as far as my pro- 
fessional duties will permit,” said the doc- 


Mrs. Morrison's Great Plan. 


127 


tor, assuming a pompous and ultra-profes- 
sional air. 

"Well, you really have got a good many 
patients now,” said Mrs. Morrison. 

“Yes, thanks to you chiefly,” said the 
doctor ; “ but I have some time on my hands, 
which shall be yours.” 

“I must think out every detail of that 
great day, and let you know,” said Mrs. Mor- 
rison. “What would you think of a drive 
for all the rock- juveniles as a sort of winding 
up?” 

“ It would be first class,” cried the doctor, 
“ if Larry would keep the peace.” 

“ I think he would,” said Mrs. Morrison. 
“ Once he felt that he was not at war with 
society, he would act accordingly. Teddy, of 
course, shall have a place of honor. Indeed, 
I intend to make him help us in our prepara- 
tions. As to the drive, I think a great 
wagon, put on runners, if there be snow, 
could contain them all. How many do you 
think there are?” 


12S 


Mrs. Morrison's Great Plan. 


The doctor shook his head. 

“ That will be Teddy’s department to get 
a list of them,” he said. 

“ Well, a great wagon, or two if necessary, 
shall be provided, and Mary shall invite every 
one,” said Mrs. Morrison. 

“ Mary has found a fairy godmother with 
a vengeance,” cried the doctor. 

“ She may thank you for that,” laughed 
Mrs. Morrison. “ But now I have told you 
the chief details of my wonderful plan. We 
have just a month to carry it out.” 

She took a calendar from the wall and con- 
sulted it. 

“ Christmas will be on Saturday, just four 
weeks off. I mustn’t lose any time.” 

“ Count on me for anything and every- 
thing. And now I must be off. I really 
have a patient to see at five,” said the doctor. 

“ It wants only twenty-five minutes of it, 
so be off, my busy practitioner,” said Mrs. 
Morrison; “ but come and dine with me on 
Sunday, till we make our final plans.” 


Mrs . Morrison's Great Plan. 


129 


She watched the doctor as he went down 
the street, tall and erect, the picture of health 
and of vigorous manhood. 

“ Such as he was, as he would have been,” 
thought the bereaved mother, with a sigh. 
But the rush and roar of the great metrop- 
olis soon shut the figure she was watching 
from her sight, and on the darkness of the 
November evening flashed the radiance of 
the electric light. 

The doctor, meanwhile, was thinking once 
again, as he walked, of how marvellously his 
perception had benefited Mrs. Morrison, and 
that she seemed to have taken what is com- 
monly called a new lease of life. He thought 
of her benefits to himself with a warm sense 
of gratitude. Thence his thoughts went 
back to that first day when he had been called 
in to prescribe for Mary, after she had been 
injured by the goat. He remembered what 
an impression had been made upon his mind 
by the incident, and by that weird place, the 
pile of desolate rock, where yet human beings 


130 


Mrs. Morrison's Great Plan. 


lived and sorrowed and rejoiced, with the 
same hearts and the same hopes and fears as 
anywhere in God’s universe. He recalled the 
look of gratitude that had come into Mary’s 
eyes as he had ministered to her in that 
squalid cabin, with poor people all around 
her, kind and sympathetic, indeed, but rude 
and unpolished; and how he had seen her 
afterward with the baby “ Jim ” by her side, 
and had marked her devotion to that little 
atom of humanity, who had made his way 
into the world, so to say, on the wrong side 
of it; for, after all, he might as well have 
been a millionaire’s son. 

“ I wonder what will become of her ? ” he 
said. “ The goat has provided against her 
having hard work to do, for the simple reason 
that she cannot do it. Poor little waif! 
What a featherweight she would be against 
the stream of the world ! ” His reflections 
were cut short by his arrival at the dwelling 
of a patient, who was very different, indeed, 
from gentle little Mary. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE PEDDLER HAS ANOTHER ENCOUNTER WITH 
LARRY. 

The days preceding that great Christmas 
day were full of bustle and excitement. The 
doctor was very often seen upon the rocks 
in close consultation with Mary and Teddy, 
and with an occasional reference to Mrs. Mc- 
Gowan, who, with Michael, gave them full 
permission to make use of their dwelling in 
the carrying out of the plans. More than 
this, the good woman was delighted at the 
prospect. One day, the peddler chanced to 
arrive, and was immediately called into the 
councils. Mary had told the doctor of the 
man’s encounter with Larry, and had won the 
doctor’s sympathy for the vender of small 
wares at once. 

“He’s the sort of chap I like,” the doc- 
131 


132 


Another Encounter with Larry. 


tor had decided. And so, having oppor- 
tunely appeared, he was made a party to the 
grand scheme. Teddy upon that particular 
occasion was not yet home from school. So 
the doctor was free to express himself about 
the peddler’s experience with Larry. 

“ I want to thank you for your treatment 
of that fellow the other day,” he said. “ If 
he got a few more doses of the same medicine, 
it would go far to cure him.” 

The peddler laughed complacently. 

“ Larry is one rascal, that is true,” he 
said. “ And when he annoy that leetle girl 
and wake up that baby, I set him dancing to 
his own musics.” 

“ I wish I had been here to see,” said the 
doctor, viciously; for Larry was his special 
detestation. 

“ I would with pleasure repeat, if that lad 
he will but give me a chance,” said the ped- 
dler, with a humorous look. “ But I fear not.” 

“ Has he been annoying you lately ?” asked 
the doctor. 


Another Encounter with Larry. 


133 


Mary hesitated. She did not wish to bring 
down the summary vengeance of her two de- 
fenders upon the culprit. 

“ Not so very much . 55 

Which both men interpreting aright, they 
shook their heads. Then they fell to busi- 
ness. The peddler was invited to make one of 
the Christmas guests, and to give his help be- 
forehand in the general arrangements. Like 
most foreigners, anything in the shape of a 
festivity was grateful to him. He loved the 
very idea of a merrymaking, and in his soli- 
tary, wandering life they were rare enough. 
He was quite as much pleased with the notion 
as either Mary or Teddy Moloney, and en- 
tered into his part with great enthusiasm, 
which was rendered very amusing by the 
number of mistakes he made in trying to ex- 
press himself. 

“ One thing will I promise / 5 he said. “ I 
will keep both my eyes upon your Larry. 
And if he will the mischief do, then shall 
he dance . 55 


134 


Another Encounter with Larry. 


“Good!” said the doctor. “You will be 
the special constable for Larry.” 

But this was not to be the only part of the 
peddler’s duties. In fact, they had become 
quite onerous during the course of the inter- 
view. It was decided that he should put 
aside his pack for the whole day before 
Christmas, and see that the turkeys and 
other delicacies were properly distributed. 
He was to lend his skill, which was by no 
means trifling, in the erection and decora- 
tion of the Christmas tree. 

The Christmas dinner was to be served at 
the McGowans’ at an early hour ; and it was 
suggested by Mrs. McGowan — who flitted in 
and out while they talked as far as her work 
permitted — that the peddler should eat his 
dinner with them. 

“ With all my heart !” he said. “I am one 
who walks alone all the days, and when 
comes a festival it is then I feel it in my 
heart.” 

After this dinner it was decided that Mrs. 


Another Encounter with Larry. 


135 


Morrison and the doctor should join the 
company, and that all the invited guests 
should be summoned. As soon as it was 
dark enough the Christmas-tree was to be 
lighted and shown to the admiring eyes, 
which had never looked upon such a thing 
of beauty before. 

“We shall all be with joy overflowing/’ 
said the peddler. “ Even the pestiferous 
Larry shall be of joy full.” 

“I hope so,” said the doctor, wondering 
how his new acquaintance had got hold of so 
long a word. 

“ But if I would play then I must to work 
now,” said the peddler. “My pack has not 
much thinner grown while here I stand ; so I 
will say good-by to you.” 

“ Good-by,” said the doctor. 

But the peddler did not leave the scene as 
soon as he had expected, and the doctor and 
Mary were presently the witnesses of what 
the peddler called “ a performance.” 

Larry, who was concealed, as he thought. 


136 


Another Encounter with Larry. 


in a clump of rocks, began his customary sa- 
lute of “ Dutchy ! Dutchy !” varying the en- 
tertainment with a shower of pebbles, which 
struck upon the peddler’s pack as though it 
had been a drum. The peddler, who was per- 
fectly well aware of Larry’s hiding-place, 
waited until he was within fair reach of it. 
Being a man of unusual activity, he suddenly 
dropped his pack, wheeled around, and was 
beside the offender before he had recovered 
from his surprise. 

Pulling Larry forth, he displayed him to 
the doctor. 

“ Here is one leetle lad who would your ac- 
quaintance make. Shall I bring him up that 
you one, two, three kicks will give him ?” 

“Your own toe will do as well for this 
time,” said the doctor; “but my turn will 
come if he continues his pranks.” 

“ Shall I not rather let escape the goat ?” 
cried the peddler, by a sudden inspiration, 
“ and then shall we see one rascal hunt.” 

Mary, terrified, looked up appealingly into 


Another Encounter with Larry. 137 

the doctor’s face when she heard this awful 
threat, and the doctor reassured her by say- 
ing that the peddler was only in jest. 

“ Here, my goot Billy — my very goot and 
amiable beast !” cried the peddler. “ I shall 
that string cut, and we shall see.” 

“ I’ll tell pa!” roared Larry. 

“ Will you so ?” cried the peddler. “And I, 
too, shall tell him many things, and I shall 
one arrest make, for that he keeps two ani- 
mals — you and this Billy — to make horrible 
the rocks. The doctor shall you sew — is it 
not so, my friend? — when Billy shall have 
torn you !” 

Larry stole a glance into the peddler’s ap- 
parently ferocious face; but he looked as 
though he were, indeed, in deadly earnest. 

“ The goat, she is one gentleman compared 
with you,” said the peddler, urging Larry 
on in that animal’s direction. “ She only 
fight to preserve herself.” 

“He fought with Mary Tracy, and ’most 
killed her,” whimpered Larry. 


138 


Another Encounter with Larry. 


“ And you would then that amiable beast 
be like,” continued the peddler, “that you 
might one defenceless child attack. Oh, the 
goat he will with his cornes punish you !” 

They were now drawing near the goat, who 
seemed in very good trim for the fight, if any- 
thing could be judged by the desperate passes 
he began to make as soon as he got sight of 
Larry; for the boy had so tormented him 
that the animal bore him an old grudge. 

For a moment the doctor thought of inter- 
fering, not knowing how far the peddler 
might be disposed to go, and seeing how seri- 
ous matters might become if the goat by any 
accident broke loose ; but on second thought 
he merely waited. The peddler, still holding 
Larry, but at a sufficiently safe distance from 
his enemy, went tolerably close to the goat, 
and thus addressed him : 

“ Sharp your cornes, my goat Billy, my 
worthy beast ! This is one wicked lad whom 
you shall punish.” 

The peddler seemed to whisper in the ani- 


Another Encounter with Larry. 139 

mal’s ear. Billy stood quite still, even rub- 
bing his head against the man. Then he 
suddenly made a spring in Larry’s direction, 
as though he were carrying out the peddler’s 
orders. This proceeding alarmed Larry 
more than anything else ; but just as he had 
reached a most abject state of terror the ped- 
dler said: 

“ If I save you from the goat’s cornes it is 
lest he may break them against your head, so 
hard is it.” 

And so saying, he suddenly released his 
hold of the boy. Larry was out of sight in 
the twinkling of an eye, while the peddler 
called after him: 

“ Bun, my lad, or the beast shall overtake 
him! Your legs are good, but Billy he has 
four and shall beat your two.” 

The peddler joined the doctor in a hearty 
laugh, and, nodding in a friendly way to 
Mary, went tranquilly on his way, for neither 
sight nor sound of Larry disturbed him after 
that. The boy was beginning to have a real 


140 


Another Encounter with Larry. 


fear of this terrible peddler man, who could 
climb rocks as fast as he could himself, and 
who seemed to enjoy a species of intimacy 
with the goat. 

"I guess he ? s sold hisself to the devil,” 
said Larry to one of his chums. 

But after that he offended the peddler no 
more, nor did he play any pranks upon Mary 
when the peddler was likely to be anywhere 
in the neighborhood. 

Mary drew a deep sigh of relief as the doc- 
tor and she were left alone, the doctor smil- 
ing at her and beginning to talk to the little 
girl in a quiet and serious way. He liked to 
hear her views of life, so quaint, so solemn 
almost, so limited by her narrow surround- 
ings, and yet so wonderfully acute. What 
would she be, he w r ondered, when she had 
known joy and sorrow — when she had seen, 
if she ever did see, the wider side of life, and 
had left behind her, if that, too, might be, 
the rocks, with their squalid and yet pictur- 
esque surroundings? For, after all, there 


Another Encounter with Larry. 


141 


was an individuality in very bleakness and 
isolation. 

This girl, he thought, might be less strik- 
ing under other circumstances, less different 
from other people. If that patched frock of 
two or three colors, brightened on special oc- 
casions by the celebrated crimson scarf, were 
exchanged for more conventional attire — if 
those scant wisps of hair were cared for and 
arranged in orderly fashion, much of the 
weird, elfin look of the face they surrounded 
would be lost. But those strange eyes must 
remain under whatever circumstances. Their 
depths, their softness, and the singular 
charm they exercised must remain un- 
touched. 

“ If we could only read the future !” said 
the doctor, as if thinking aloud. 

“ Mebbe it’s better not, sir,” said the little 
girl, earnestly, with her premature wisdom. 
“ I guess God would ha* told us if He wanted 
us to know.” 

“ That’s right, Mary,” he said; but, as 


142 


Another Encounter with Larry. 


his eyes wandered away from her to where 
the trees skirting the Park were shivering at 
the loss of their leaves, he added : 

“ Now, Fd like to know, for example, what 
Jim will become, and if, when he grows np, 
yon will be still near him like* a guardian 
spirit.” 

“Fd hate Jim to be a man,” Mary said, 
with so much energy that the doctor smiled. 
Perhaps she was thinking of some of the men 
whom she had seen about the rocks. 

“ Still he can’t always stay a baby,” said 
the doctor, “unless you can get the fairies to 
bewitch him.” 

Mary smiled. None of the rock-children 
believed in fairies. They had known too 
much of the stern realities of life to have 
faith left for those gracious personalities who 
serve to brighten life for wealthier children. 

“He won’t be a man for a good while,” 
Mary said, with a sudden clear show of her 
face. Troubles a long way off rarely afflict 
children much. 


Another Encounter with Larry. 143 

“ So you don’t want to see Jim turned into 
a real biped, wearing a tall hat, and stand- 
ing on his own legs ?” 

“He can stand now,” said Mary, with 
some pride. 

“ With you to hold him up,” said the doc- 
tor ; “ but I mean when he can really stand 
on his own legs and glory in the ugliness of 
masculine attire.” 

Mary couldn’t follow all this, but she re- 
marked : 

“ I knit him a jacket. Mrs. Morrison gave 
me the wool.” 

“ Well, so long as you’re happy seeing him 
arrayed in worsted jackets and long petti- 
coats, so am I, of course,” declared the doc- 
tor ; “ but I should prefer a coat and trousers 
myself.” 

“ I wish it were Christmas,” said Mary, 
suddenly changing the subject. 

“Yes, that will be a glorious day for us 
all,” said the doctor; “but wishing won’t 
make old December take off a single day.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


CHRISTMAS ON THE ROCKS. 

The Christmas Da)' dawned clear and 
fair, a result for which Mary, at least, had 
been ardently praying. It was crisp and cold, 
and the snow, which had been long heralded 
by leaden skies and biting winds, was lying, 
soft and white and comfortable, like wool, 
upon the ground. Every one of the rock ju- 
veniles felt more or less elated, having 
learned something of the intended festivi- 
ties, though not all their nature or extent. 

As the day wore on savory smells, long 
unknown to that region, began to emerge 
from the several cabins. The odor of turkey 
and goose, with their various “ dressings,” 
began to be very perceptible. Hungry lads 
peered in every once in a while to find out 
144 


Christmas on the Rocks. 


145 


how the wonderful fowl in the oven was 
doing. One or two of the rock housewives, 
who in former days had been cooks in gentle- 
men’s families, revived their half-forgotten 
lore, and gave their services and advice to 
less fortunate ones in the all-important cook- 
ing of the poultry. This lent a pleasant 
bustle and excitement to the place, and every 
habitation upon the rocks shared in this air 
of festal preparation. Even the most sulky 
and ill-humored of their inmates succumbed 
to the general good feeling, and looked for- 
ward to the mid-day banquet. 

Of course, at the McGowans’ the excite- 
ment was threefold. Much mystery had to 
be observed that neither Mary herself nor the 
other rock-children should see too soon the 
glories of the Christmas tree. Mary was 
very careful herself in this respect, walking 
backward or with eyes shut past the 
spot which was but scantily protected 
by a somewhat tattered sheet hung in 
front of it. But she liked this delightful air 


146 


Christmas on the Rocks. 


of mystery. It was a novelty in itself, and 
she had long talks with Jim about “the 
pooty, pooty things” behind the sheet, and 
about “ little J esus ” and the crib, the angels 
and the shepherds, and Santa Claus, and, in 
fact, all the Christmas lore she had been able 
to get together. 

Meanwhile, the peddler and Teddy Mo- 
loney came, and with an air of importance. 
Once during the forenoon the doctor dropped 
in for a few moments, disappeared behind 
the sheet, which seemed to swallow up every 
one, and hurried away again. Mrs. Mc- 
Gowan took a peep in every once in a 
while, her face happy and smiling as she 
bustled around the stove. Every time she 
opened the oven the delicious odor, which 
was that day all-pervading, came forth in- 
tensified, and there was a large saucepan on 
the fire, in which the plum pudding, which 
had arrived already boiled, was being heated. 

It was a proud moment when she sum- 
moned the peddler and Michael to the sump- 


Christmas on the Rocks. 


147 


tuous repast, which changed the cabin into a 
palace. Teddy, of course, had to go home, 
where his own dinner was ready, but Mrs. 
McGowan had bade him be sure to hasten 
back in time for a bit of the plum pudding. 

Such a meal as it was ! The peddler, be- 
coming retrospective under the influence of 
the good cheer, told many quaint stories, 
some of which were specially for Mary’s ear, 
about his foreign home or his many wander- 
ings. He even sang various little Christmas 
songs, which went out through the broken 
pane in the window, and were carried away 
over the rocks into the other cabins. The 
burden of one of these was : 

“ God gave us Christmas, 

That it burn 

Sorrow and care and gloom 
In its urn. 

“ God gave Christmas, 

That it fall 
Joyous and bright. 

Merry Christmas to all !” 


148 


Christmas on the Rocks. 


Michael was also at his best, and his rich 
Irish humor kept the little company laugh- 
ing, while Mrs. McGowan’s spirits were fair- 
ly overflowing. Mary’s happiness was al- 
ways more quiet, but could be read in every 
line of her face and in the smile that shone 
away down in the depths of her eyes. The 
doctor’s health was drunk in ginger-pop — 
for Michael McGowan was a total abstinence 
man — and, of course, Mrs. Morrison’s. 

“ And God bless them both ! Amen !” 

The “ Amen ” was said rather solemnly 
by all these three grown people, who had 
seen life so differently, but all in its rougher 
aspects, and by Mary, who repeated it over 
and over within herself : 

“ God bless them both!” 

“ If all the rich were thus,” said the ped- 
dler, “ no anarchists should there be.” 

“ Faith, you’re right !” said Michael. 
“ Though it’s myself doesn’t know much 
about any of that kidney, and cares less.” 

“ In my country much is heard,” said the 


Christmas on the Rocks. 


149 


peddler, looking grave. “ But it is the idle 
ones, the bad ones, who shall not be satis- 
fied. It is the bad poor and the bad rich 
ones who together the trouble make.” 

“Well, God save us from meddlin’ with 
the likes o’ them,” said Mrs. McGowan. 

“ I would that my countrymen would so 
pray,” said the peddler; “but what talk do 
we make on Christmas Day, and with one 
leetle girl staring at us, as if her eyes would 
jump out on the table!” 

So the talk turned to brighter themes, and, 
just as the plum pudding was brought flam- 
ing to the table, Teddy’s face appeared at the 
door. 

“ Come in, Teddy,” cried Michael, “ and 
welcome !” 

“ Here’s a place for you,” said Mrs. Mc- 
Gowan. And Teddy took his seat, his eyes 
fixed upon that wonderful pudding, of which 
he had read indeed but had never tasted. 

“The turkey was bully!” whispered Ted- 
dy to Mary. 


150 


Christmas on the Rocks. 


Mary nodded. 

“ So was ours/’ she said. 

But the pudding clapped the climax. He 
could scarcely find words to express his ap- 
preciation of it, and, truth to tell, it was 
heartily enjoyed even by the “grown-ups.” 

Dinner being over, the real business of the 
day began. Mrs. Morrison and the doctor 
drove up to the foot of the rocky path in a 
handsome Russian sleigh, and were greeted 
by an enthusiastic crowd, who had come 
forth at the jingling of the sleigh-bells. 
They passed into the McGowan shanty, and 
immediately entered into consultation with 
Mrs. McGowan, Teddy and the peddler. 
Teddy was presently despatched with invita- 
tions, in Mary’s name, to every boy and girl 
upon the rocks. Fortunately, they were not 
too many, the older ones in each family hav- 
ing drifted away to other scenes and other 
occupations. They were bidden to assemble 
at four o’clock precisely, when the early 
darkness of the winter afternoon would have 


Christmas on the Rocks. 


151 


set in. Mrs. Morrison had brought up half 
a dozen lamps to supplement the one or two 
of the McGowan household. But only one 
was lit, in order to make the brilliancy of the 
Christmas tree fully apparent. 

Every available chair was brought forth. 
They were few, and many of them in a sad 
condition, so that Mrs. McGowan could not 
help flushing a little with mortification. 
But the doctor and the peddler between 
them had contrived to borrow a number of 
stools, which took up very little room and 
accommodated the children. Their elders, 
who had followed the children over, could 
not fit in, for, though the McGowan shanty 
was the largest upon the rocks, its available 
space was very limited. As it was, all sorts 
of liberties had to be taken with the furni- 
ture to enable the children to squeeze in. So 
that, when they had all assembled and sat 
rather awe-stricken and quiet, there was a 
second assembly pressed around the window, 
one or other occasionally peering in at the 


152 


Christmas on the Rocks. 


window. And there was a pleasant buzz of 
conversation, a murmur of laughter and jest 
kept up out there on the snowy ground, in 
the clear, sparkling air, lit by moon and stars 
alike. 

In the front row sat Mary, with Jim. 
Mary’s eyes were fairly shining with expecta- 
tion. She wore a new dress, which was an 
anticipatory gift of Mrs. Morrison, with her 
beloved crimson scarf thrown over her 
shoulders. She saw the familiar figures of 
the boys and girls she had known from child- 
hood come gliding in to the dimness. Last 
of all was Larry. He stole in, with a look of 
mingled fear and defiance upon his face. He 
was not sure that he would not be ignomini- 
ously expelled. But it was worth the chance, 
and Teddy had certainly said that he was 
invited. Mary had worked herself up into 
a state of excitement, and whispered words 
of wonder and expectancy from the other 
children began to break the stillness. 

To Mary the scene was a wonderful one. 


Christmas on the Rocks. 


153 


The shanty, full of that air of suppressed ex- 
citement, had lost its familiar aspect and was 
transformed. Everything was changed; the 
furniture moved out of its place ; a bright- 
colored picture or two put up, with streamers 
of red, white and blue, festoons of Christmas 
greens, wreaths of holly and colored flags, 
the Stars and Stripes, varied by the green 
and gold of Erin. Even the boys and girls, 
who sat in rows with staring eyes and open 
mouths, oppressed by the darkness and 
strangeness of it all, seemed to Mary to grow 
likewise unfamiliar. And so they sat and 
waited, till the doctor, stepping out, gave a 
signal. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE CHRISTMAS-TREE. 

At the doctor’s signal Mrs. Morrison came 
forth and took her place on a cushioned chair 
that had been prepared for her. Mrs. Mc- 
Gowan and Michael, with Mary and Jim, sat 
next, and after that the rows of children. 

Presently there were a rustling and a jerk- 
ing, a dazzle and a brilliancy. The curtain 
had rolled away, and showed a myriad lights, 
green, yellow, blue, white, pink, red, candles 
innumerable shining from dark branches, 
balls and lumps of shining stuffs, yards and 
yards of gold and silver and copper tinsel 
wound in and out and everywhere, the whole 
surmounted by a luminous star. 

Teddy, stepping out, attired in a wonder- 
ful costume he had worn at a school-play, 
154 


The Christmas-tree. 


155 


and which his teacher had lent him again 
for this occasion, recited a pretty piece, in 
which was told the story of the Star of Beth- 
lehem and of the first Christmas night — that 
night of nights, when faith was rekindled 
and hope rewarded, and the world was born 
anew with the coming of a Saviour. The 
full force of that great truth came into the 
minds of those children at that moment, and 
sank deepest of all into little Mary’s soul. 

The peddler followed Teddy’s recitation 
with a song, which he rendered with some 
taste in a not unmusical voice. And the 
song, too, sang of the joys of Christmas, and 
of the message which it yearly gives to the 
world. 

Meantime, the children had leisure to ex- 
amine the details of that wonderful whole: 
to see the gilded nuts elbowing the many- 
colored baskets, and the gingerbread men 
looking as if they desired to leap up on the 
apples, and monkeys that swung themselves 
in swings and seemed to jibber at bright- 


156 


The Christmas-tree . 


hued cockatoos, while angels and fairies 
looked out from the branches and smiled at 
the toys, the candies and the books. 

But why describe a Christmas-tree? Who 
that shall read this story has not seen one? 
The peddler had exhausted his ingenuity, 
and lent to this particular tree a quaint and 
foreign aspect. Mrs. Morrison had spared 
no expense, the doctor had spent time and 
trouble, and Teddy had worked hard for it. 
Still, to many of our readers it would be but 
a Christmas-tree. To the rock-children it 
was a dream, an enchantment. Some of 
them had heard of such a thing vaguely, but 
none — none had ever seen one. Jim crowed 
aloud in a mild exuberance of spirits, as 
though he wanted it to be distinctly under- 
stood that he saw and appreciated all. Mary 
was simply bewildered. Her nature, which 
was truly an artistic one despite its imper- 
fect development, was moved to its depth, 
and she was aroused only when the doctor 
laid his hand upon her shoulder, and his 


The Christmas-tree. 


157 


kindly voice bade her come and distribute the 
good things. 

Mary’s quaint figure stood there beside 
the tree, when the doctor announced that 
each boy or girl must come forward when 
his or her name was called, for Mary Tracy 
was about to give them each a Christmas 
gift. 

Quite early on the list came Larry Mo- 
loney, and it was an impressive moment when 
his name was called. The doctor, indeed, 
drew aside at first to avoid any greeting to 
Larry, for whom he had an unconquerable 
aversion. Larry, on the other hand, drew 
back with a quick movement, almost of fear, 
at sight of the peddler. The peddler, how- 
ever, stepped briskly forward, holding out 
his hand. 

“ Come on, you Larry Moloney,” he cried 
out. “ To-day it is to all peace. I will your 
hand shake.” 

Larry did not seem very anxious for the 
honor. He had too recent a memory of the 


158 


The Christmas-tree. 


peddler’s power of shaking. Still, he had no 
recourse but to comply, and awkwardly 
thrust his hand into the outstretched one of 
his late antagonist. The peddler’s hand 
closed over it in a friendly grip, and next 
moment Larry was receiving his share of the 
good things off the tree from the hand of 
the little girl he had so long persecuted. He 
cast one sheepish glance at Mary, who smiled 
at him, her shining eyes seeming to reflect 
the lights from the tree, and to glow as they 
did; then he hung his head and looked no 
more. All this was a new experience to Larry. 
Scarcely ever had he joined in any social 
event whatever. Seldom was he addressed 
by any one in a friendly manner. He was 
usually being reproached, found fault with, 
or, at best, avoided. And all, it must be 
confessed, through his own fault. Some- 
thing in the boy’s manner and appearance 
touched the doctor, and he, too, came for- 
ward with a friendly greeting, slapping 
Larry familiarly on the shoulder. The Me- 


The Christmas-tree . 


159 


Gowans, too, had something pleasant to say. 
For the first time Larry found himself a 
member of society. Hitherto he had been, as 
it were, an outcast, the plague and terror of 
the rocks. He gathered into his arms all the 
fine things that had been given him, and went 
back to his place, sorting them over wonder- 
ingly in a mechanical sort of way. But the 
friendly words which had been spoken to 
him, and the welcome he had received affect- 
ed him still more deeply. They seemed to 
lodge somewhere and to warm and cheer him. 
To the other children, all this was simply a 
splendid merry-making, full of details which 
bordered on the marvellous, and all of them 
were radiant and shining with the joy and 
wonder of it. To Larry it was an epoch in 
his life. Teddy Moloney was foremost every- 
where. His services had been most valuable, 
and he was on quite intimate terms with the 
peddler, the doctor, and even the great lady 
herself, while he was the chief friend of 
Mary, the heroine of the occasion. 


160 


The Christmas-tree. 


Larry was accustomed to see his brother 
made so much of, and to have the contrast 
sharply drawn between them. So he did not 
mind that in the least. What did seem odd 
was to find himself on an equality with the 
others, to hear his name called, and to find 
himself consulted in the games which fol- 
lowed the Christmas-tree, and the supper 
which followed that again, served to them 
all standing up or sitting on their stools, as 
there was no room for a table. 

After that it was time for the drive. The 
jingling of bells was heard, the cracking of 
a whip, the pawing and neighing of horses, 
and the sudden stopping of the great wagon 
upon runners, drawn by four horses. Out 
into the clear starshine trooped the children, 
wrapping up as best they might to protect 
themselves against the cold December air, 
which soon had their cheeks glowing. Larry 
was invited to choose his own place in this 
gorgeous vehicle. He had never had a “ride” 
before, except when he had stolen one on a 


The Christmas-tree. 


161 


cart or carriage, to be flicked off like a 
troublesome fly by the whip of the driver. 
Only the strangeness of everything which 
kept his spirits in check, prevented him from 
yelling with delight. 

“Ain’t it all lovely, Larry?” said a voice 
beside him, as he stood waiting for his turn 
to enter the wagon. He turned and saw 
Mary Tracy beside him, her eyes still full of 
that glow and her lips smiling. He turned 
away in confusion, growing very red, and 
blurting out: 

“ Oh, yes ; I guess so.” 

He told himself that he never could talk 
to girls. In fact, as he had no sisters he 
never did talk to any,, except to call them 
names. But he knew in his heart that there 
were far stronger reasons for the confusion 
he felt when Mary addressed him than be- 
cause of her being a girl. 

It was a strange moment there, under the 
starshine, such as does not often come into 
a boy’s life. Larry, still oppressed by the 


162 


The Christmas-tree. 


novelty of his sensations, found this friend- 
liness of Mary’s so disturbing that he had 
not a word to say. Yet there was something 
working in his mind which would find its 
way out: 

“ Look here !” said he gruffly to Mary, who 
still stood smiling at his side. “ I’ve got to 
tell you; so here goes. ’Twas me let loose 
the goat that day.” 

It was a moral upheaval — such a con- 
fession as could never have been forced from 
the boy by the harshest of treatment. The 
kindness of that day and Mary’s friendli- 
ness had overpowered him, and he felt that 
he must tell this secret, which had lain so 
heavily upon his mind. It was one of the 
contradictions of human nature that all the 
time it had been tormenting him he had not 
ceased to persecute Mary. The little girl 
said nothing for a moment. Larry went on. 

“I did it a purpose. ’Twa’n’t no acci- 
dent.” 

Mary said then, very quietly: 


The Christmas-tree . 


163 


“I guess ’tain’t much matter. I can get 
along.” 

Larry had no more to say, now that his 
story was told. Speech did not come very 
readily to him at any time, and Mary’s pret- 
ty tranquillity, instead of the outburst of re- 
proach he had expected, left him dumb. 
What could he say when she merely accepted 
the fact, and did not upbraid him for it? 
But, as they stood in a silence which was 
impressive in the merry bustle all around, 
Mary added softly: 

“So long’s nothin’ happened to Jim!” 

Larry felt a shiver go through him. If 
something had happened to Jim! 

“ I didn’t know the kid was out,” he said, 
with a lame attempt at an apology, “an’ 
I thought you could run for it.” 

Mary thought sadly, for just one moment, 
how fast she could run in those days, but she 
said no word of this to Larry. Only in her 
quaint little way, which was oddly impres- 
sive, she whispered: 


164 


The Christmas-tree. 


“ Fm glad you didn’t know Jim was out. 
It would have been real mean if you had.” 

Larry felt a queer sensation in his throat 
at that, and he began to shuffle away. The 
interview was something altogether out of 
his ordinary line. He did not know himself, 
but it was the first step towards making a 
man of himself. One thing, at least, might 
be predicted, that he would let Mary alone 
after that. 

“ I guess we’d better get into the wagon,” 
he said, awkwardly. And it was he who 
helped Mary in, awkwardly enough, but still 
with rough willingness. Mary could scarce- 
ly believe it herself, nor Teddy, for that 
matter, who looked on, with eyes round with 
wonder. The doctor, for his own reasons, 
kept in the background. 

When all the children were seated, the 
peddler, Mr. and Mrs. McGowan, and the 
elder Moloneys were crowded in, and with 
cheers and yells the whole party drove away. 
The groups left behind answered the shouts 


The Christmas-tree. 


165 


from the wagon with shouts and yells of 
their own, and waving of hats, and the ends 
of shawls, and jests and laughter. It was 
an occasion long remembered upon the 
rocks. 

Mrs. Morrison and the doctor stood apart, 
the latter waving his hat until the wagon 
was out of sight. 

" See what you have done,” said the doc- 
tor. " You have converted this place for the 
time into Arcadia, and have cheered the 
hearts of every man, woman, and child in 
it.” 

" I hope so,” said Mrs. Morrison, with 
tears in her own eyes. 

"The dullest eyes you have brightened, 
and the heaviest hearts you have lightened,” 
said the doctor. 

" All for the sake of those that are gone,” 
said Mrs. Morrison. " I have tried to bring 
some joy to this little colony.” 

"You have half converted Larry,” said 
the doctor, " though I won’t be surprised to 


166 


The Christmas-tree. 


hear that he is more outrageous than ever 
to-morrow. But perhaps a seed has been 
sown that will ripen. I saw him stand and 
talk to Mary a moment, and I confess that 
I drew near to listen.” 

Mrs. Morrison’s eyes were upon him, full 
of inquiry. 

“Well?” said she. 

“ He confessed to her that it was he who 
had set loose the goat that memorable day, 
and he attempted an apology. He said he 
did not know Jim was out, and that he 
thought she could run for it. Mary, of 
course, will never say a word ; but I couldn’t 
believe Larry was so human if I had not my- 
self heard him.” 

“ I think you are too severe on the boy,” 
said Mrs. Morrison, touched by what she 
had heard. “ Perhaps every one has been.” 

“ I wouldn’t have thought till this evening 
that any one could be half severe enough 
with him. But I see now your methods are 
the best. Had he been left out of this day’s 


The Christmas-tree. 


167 


sport, he would have been an outcast for 
life.” 

They were both silent, standing almost 
where the two children stood, with this prob- 
lem in their minds. 

"I think Mary enjoyed the day,” said 
Mrs. Morrison, presently. 

“ She told me she was too happy,” said 
the doctor, laughing. “ I told her in return 
that it was a complaint she was very likely 
to get over as she grew older.” 

“ I wonder what will become of her,” said 
Mrs. Morrison. 

“ I have often wondered,” said the doctor. 
“ There is something so unusual about her, 
that one can never guess.” 

“ Shall we forecast a future ? ” said Mrs. 
Morrison. “ Shall we marry her to Teddy 
Moloney, when we have given him a good 
start, and when he is at the head of a snug 
business? Or shall we reform Larry thor- 
oughly, make him rise to something very 
good, and reward him with Mary ? ” 


The Christmas-tree. 


168 

The doctor looked grave a moment. 

“The reform will have to be very com- 
plete, and little Mary will have to grow very 
much in strength. I should like to imagine 
her always a child, always here upon the 
rocks, with her crimson scarf to light up 
their dulness.” 

“You want to give her the best gift of 
all — perpetual youth ! ” said Mrs. Morrison. 
“ Oh, what a dream it is, and how we all 
sigh for it! But do not wish her to stay 
here always.” 

She glanced involuntarily around, as if 
the bleakness of the place in the cold moon- 
light struck her, and spoke again, in a voice 
solemn almost as though registering a vow. 

“While I live she shall never want, nor 
after I am gone, either. I shall not make 
her rich suddenly, but I shall put her con- 
stantly in the way of earning. She shall 
make her own way step by step, for that is 
best. But if she fails, then she will have 
me to look to.” 


The Christmas-tree. 


169 


The doctor, for only answer, took off his 
hat, and, bending over, kissed Mrs. Morri- 
son’s hand: 

“ God only can reward you,” he said, full 
of emotion. 

“ But here we are standing all this time in 
the cold, while dinner is waiting at home. 
Yes, there is the sleigh. So tear yourself 
from your dream-pictures, and during din- 
ner we can talk of Mary and Jim, and what 
we wish them to be.” 

“ And of how Mary’s fortune was made,” 
laughed the doctor. 


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